You Can Keep Her
by RebeccaFoxx
Summary: When Georgie Denbrough went out into the rain to sail his paper boat, a monstrous entity saw this as an opportunity for a meal- or so it thought. The child is... different right off the bat, and as one thing leads to another, It finds itself wishing that It had done the pesky boy in. Rated T for gore and swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm going to come right out and say it, this is an IT turned good AU based off of the comic done by littlekiwifrog over on Tumblr. I've been having a blast writing this story, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Review if you liked it, follow if you loved it!**

* * *

The paper boat bobbed dangerously in the gutter, the heavy rainfall pummeling the already wobbling craft as it raced through the torrent of rainwater. Georgie Denburough chased after it without hesitation, his green galoshes sloshing through the puddles collecting in the street and spraying water in every direction. He hardly cared about the weather, his face sporting a wide grin as he tore down the muddy street, weaving between parked cars with ease. The sound of rain on their windshields had to be one of his favorites.

His yellow hood fell over his brown eyes that glimmered with a childish delight. Rain dripped onto his face, but it was the last thing on his mind, his gaze fixated on the paper boat speeding out of his reach. He scrubbed at his face to try and clear his vision, his legs pumping as the boat continued to pick up speed, the paraffin coating causing the water to bead on the smooth paper.

He was so absorbed in watching the boat, in fact, that he failed to notice that he was sprinting head-on at a traffic sign that blocked a good portion of the road until it was too late for him to stop. His head collided with it first, his legs sprawling out from beneath him and leaving him to stare up at the imposing white and orange striped beam. He couldn't hold back a glare as fat raindrops splattered across his cheeks.

"Stupid." He grumbled crossly, pushing himself to his feet and trying to ignore the stinging pain in his knees. His jeans were soaked through now, water running through his fingers and plastering his hair to his head. He looked up through the rain just in time to see his boat begin careening dangerously close to one of the entrances to the sewer.

He scrambled to get to his feet and hurtled forward, powerless to do anything but watch as the boat began to tip into the opening. His heart froze in his chest. "NO!" But it was too late. The boat swung back and forth as if waving at him before toppling into the inky blackness that made up the sewer.

He dashed over to it and peered over the edge, hoping against all hopes that it had managed to get stuck against the barrage of water. His boat, however, wasn't what he saw when he leaned forward on his knees, not caring about the huge puddle forming around him.

A pair of piercing blue eyes gleamed in the darkness. He staggered back a few feet and fell back as a rasping voice began to echo from the depths of the sewer.

"Hiya Georgie!" It piped up. A face slowly came into the light, beginning with a bright red nose before revealing the white and red striped cheeks and wild orange hair of- a clown? Georgie blinked, his racing heart slowly beginning to calm itself as he gazed at the odd apparition. "This yours?" His vision slowly drifted down to the clown's gloved hand, the white fingers clutching-

"Hey, my boat! You caught it!" The clown grinned widely, its two buck teeth protruding in a jagged fashion from between its lips.

"Sure did!" It replied with a grin that stretched just a little too wide to be considered normal. Georgie didn't take note of it, deciding to ignore the tightness that found his gut as the clown offered him the boat. Before it could open its mouth to speak once more, a thought surfaced in Georgie's mind.

"What kind of a clown are you?" He could've sworn the clown's eyes flashed with a yellow light that lit the water pouring into the sewer. Once he blinked, the light was gone, replaced with the inviting blue irises that seemed so harmless and friendly.

"Only the best!" It proclaimed proudly, its wild hair seeming to bounce along with it. "Name's Pennywise! The dancing clown!" The smell of popcorn seemed to resonate from the grating when it said that. Georgie leaned closer.

"M'name's Georgie!" He proclaimed, his brain still struggling to process what exactly he was seeing."So, what are you doing in the sewer, then?" It propped its head upon one of its hands and used the other to trace lazy circles in the growing puddles. Georgie finally got a view of the clown's rumpled costume, the dusty and somewhat ruffled collar making it look like his head was just one size too big for his body. Once again, Georgie chose to ignore the hungry, predatory look in its eyes.

"Storm blew me away!" It proclaimed sadly, continuing to twiddle the fingers of its right hand in the rushing water. "Blew the whole circus away! All the rides, and popcorn, and balloons-"

"Balloons?" Georgie chimed in excitedly, inching closer to the odd clown.

"Well!" The clown leaned forward and began to gesture with its left hand, tipping its head slightly to the right. "Can't have a circus without balloons, can we?" Georgie had to say that he agreed. "But y'see, I've been down here all alone, with no one to-"

The noise of radio static suddenly crunched through the air, jarring Georgie away from the sewer and his new friend. Bill's voice was heavy with static, but it was still unmistakably his.

"Georgie, Mom says dinner's almost ready, over!" He looked down at the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt and grinned widely. He was quick in tugging it out of his belt loop and pressing it to his ear.

"Comming, over!" He was about to leave when a sound from the sewer caught his ear.

"Y-You're not leaving without your boat, are you?" Georgie's gaze fell to the name of the paper creation in the corner, the words: SS GEORGIE nearly obscured by the clown's white-clad thumb. "Bill's gonna kill you…" He furrowed his brow and thought for a moment, waving his hand dismissively before standing.

"You can keep her! Bill and me can make another one!" The clown's expression turned somewhat bitter at his words. "Maybe she can keep you company so you won't be so lonely down there." He added as an afterthought. The clown cocked its head like a dog as he waved goodbye. "Bye, Mr. Penny!" He walked through the rain with one hand gripping his walkie-talkie, hardly feeling the cold breeze that whipped through the air. "Bill! I met a funny clown in the sewer, over!"

He hummed happily as he waited for his older brother to reply, making an extra effort to splash in the huge puddles on his way back, determined not to let a minute of puddle-jumping get away from him.

"What?" There was a pause for a minute before- "J-Just get home, Georgie, over!"

"I'm coming, over!" Georgie responded before stuffing both of his hands deep into the pockets of his rain slicker. He chanced a glance over his shoulder back at the sewer grate. He could've sworn a pair of yellow eyes tracked his every movement from under the cover of darkness. But, like before, once he blinked, they were gone.

* * *

"BILLY! I'M HOME!" He hollered upon slamming the door open, ditching his soaking boots and slicker in a messy heap in the boot room. Bill looked down at him from atop the stairs, his face still slightly red from the fever that had rendered him useless.

"Juh-Georgie, you shouldn't y-yell!" Bill cautioned, striding down from his bedroom and wiping at his half-lidded eyes. "Mom d-doesn't like it when you s-s-slam the door either!" His brown hair was the very picture of a bedhead, his nose more than a little bit red from sniffing. His expression softened and within a few seconds, he was standing beside his brother. "How'd she sail?" He questioned.

"Great!" Georgie affirmed. "You'd have loved it, Bill!" Bill ruffled his hair affectionately.

"D-Did she sur-survive her maiden voyage?" He asked. Georgie's mood deflated like one of the balloons Mr. Penny had talked about.

"I gave her to the clown in the sewer." He admitted sheepishly. Bill sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes sliding closed before opening, half-lidded and skeptical.

"An-Another one of your imaginary friends?" He questioned tiredly, his fingers moving to massage his temples. Georgie shook his head no.

"Penny isn't imaginary, Bill!" He searched his brother's face for some spark of belief. Bill raised his eyebrows. "I saw him!" He insisted. "For real!" His older brother snorted his contempt.

"Right." Georgie wanted so badly to argue. He wanted to drag Bill out to meet his new friend, but a little voice inside told him not to. So, he swallowed his anger and stalked to the dinner table, prompting a sharp cry from his mother at seeing the purpling bruise on his forehead. Even as he scrubbed himself off and held the ice pack to his head (which really wasn't that bad) he couldn't help but think about the clown. He knew Penny had been real, he just knew.

He just had to prove it.

* * *

Penny could hardly believe It'd let the stupid kid slip away. It tugged on Its fiery hair and curled up tighter against the concrete wall with a snarl of noise. Its long legs splayed beneath him, one foot dipping into the murky water beneath It. It didn't care. It clutched the boat to Its chest and traced the lettering with a clawed finger, the gloves of Its disguise long since discarded.

It extended his hands and let the small vessel hang in the air, Its eyes wide and glowing with their natural yellow hue. It was pathetic, really, that a simple boat would cause It such a headache. It floated above Its outstretched fingers without bobbing, the water running off of it hitting the disgusting gunk below with small splashes of sound. It watched with a dull interest.

It had unfolded it, refolded it, and still, It failed to see anything remotely… special about the SS Georgie. It was simply a lost paper boat drenched in paraffin. That was all. But somehow, it seemed different. Like it was so much more than that.

The kid had given it to It without so much as screaming. It would've been so easy for It to have reached up and dragged the little brat as he kicked and screamed into Its lair. One quick bite would've done it, the kid wouldn't've been able to get out of Its grip. He would've squirmed, thrashed, screamed, bled. Lifeblood would spill into the jaws of whatever form It took, and then It'd snap his head back and finish-

 _No._

It stopped Its train of thought and jolted upright as if It'd been shocked.

 _Where the hell did that come from?_

The boat fell back to Its hands and It banged Its head on the wall, causing It to let out a sharp gasp. Its heart hammered against his ribs, an emotion he had tried to stifle bursting in his chest.

 _Fear._

But… What was It afraid of? Georgie? No. That- That wasn't right. Georgie was just a kid. It'd killed… oh, It'd killed… how many kids? Hundreds. Georgie was nothing new. Its gaze fell upon the boat once more and It ran his fingers over it again. The boat? Once again, It felt that he was wrong, but if that was true, what was It scared of?

The boat was a gift.

Why was that thought so daunting?

Why did it seem so impossible?

Its clawed hands shook profusely against the paper, the boat fluttering in Its grasp. It wanted to throw it. It wanted to watch it fall into the water and to never see the thrice-damned thing again.

It snaked his arm back and felt his elbow pop at the unnatural angle, his face splitting into a wide grin in response to the slick noise. Its hand brushed up against the wall and It pitched it forward, but as It watched the boat plummet, It suddenly felt so very alone. A yellow flash lit Its face and the boat froze in the air, inches above the disgusting slime that tried to pass for water.

Its shoulders heaved with ragged breaths, the ruffled collar of Its costume bouncing in time with his movements. The boat drifted close to Its head and It fell back with a sigh, crossing Its arms against his chest and letting Its legs sprawl out in the air.

It was pathetic, really.

One stupid little human boy reducing a monster to an emotional mess, but here it was. That, of course, is when it clicked.

Georgie wasn't afraid. Georgie had honestly cared for Its safety and had thought that It was- what was the word? Oh yeah. Georgie had thought It was _lonely_ , which was _ridiculous_. Georgie's voice continued to ring in Its head, making It seeth with an anger so petty, it infuriated him all the more.

It scowled at the boat and tugged at Its flaming hair, lips puckering in a sideways frown. Oh, this new child was confusing. Its head ached just thinking about the kid.

"Stupid." It spat, actually spat, drool dribbling down his chin. It wiped it off in disgust and began to stalk off down the tunnel, snatching the paper boat roughly from the air as he did so.

It'd just have to work a little harder at scaring this one, that was all.

Nothing more


	2. Chapter 2

**Here we are again with chapter two! Updates won't normally be this fast, but I've got a ton written, so I figured I may as well post it! This is where the swear warning gains some traction, due to the fact that Bowers and co are literally the worst. I'm sorry, Georgie..**

 **Come bug me on Tumblr! starry-nightflyer**

* * *

Georgie's feet were a blur on the pedals of his blue bike, a giddy sort of grin on his face as he pushed himself to go faster, _faster,_ _ **faster**_ down the hill in the direction of the barrens. The bike wobbled as he fought to keep it balanced, the spray from yet another puddle left by the rainstorm soaking the bottoms of his blue jeans.

He let out a hoot of laughter as the bike started to freewheel, rattling along down the hill at a breakneck pace. He stood up on the pedals and gripped the handlebars like they would fall off. The wind bit into his unprotected arms, but he hardly felt the cold, completely absorbed in the sound of his tires spinning out of control.

Houses passed in a haze of vague colors and shapes, smudging together as he shot past. He felt like he was never going to stop, like his bike was just going to keep on rolling forever until he looped all the way back to his front door. Reality, however, had other ideas.

He hardly had time to cry out, or even blink before the bike hit the branch, and by the time his fingers left the handlebars, it was too late for him to stop. He vaulted over the handlebars at an impressive speed, even though for him, time seemed to crawl by. He was positive that for at least a few seconds, he was perfectly suspended in the air.

Floating.

In those few seconds, he noticed the spray of water shooting from his front tire and the way that the puddles glimmered in the scant amount of sunlight. He noticed the way the trees seemed to leer down at him, challenging him to venture into the barrens with their looming branches. That, of course, was when he hit the ground.

And he hit hard.

Luckily for him, he tumbled onto the grass lining the road rather than the unforgiving pavement, but it was still an unpleasant landing. The air raced out of his lungs as his face collided with the dirt, arms sprawling at odd angles in the mud. He heard his bike crash into something behind him and tried to push himself to his feet.

He managed to throw a quick glance over his shoulder before a pain in his ankle brought him back to the ground. He wanted to shout one of the words Richie used when he thought nobody was listening.

He bit his cheek and blinked back the tears forming in his eyes, silently choking back sobs because it hurt. He looked down at his palms and grimaced upon seeing the angry red hue. It wasn't bleeding, but rather, scratched open and raw. Once more, he tried to get up, bracing one of his red palms on one of the gnarled birch trees surrounding him. From there, he managed to stumble in the direction of his bike, stopping every few steps to take a deep breath before pushing forward.

The handlebars were slick from the puddle they were laying in. Georgie hauled the bike upright and began to wheel it into the trees, walking it over twigs and around rocks as he made his way to his spot. Of course, it wasn't really his, but he liked to pretend that it was his corner of the universe.

Maybe it was because he was so concentrated on his task that he failed to notice the three figures that slipped between the trees when his bike rolled to a stop next to the muddy river.

Maybe it was because of the smug nature of the three figures that they failed to notice the predatory yellow eyes behind them.

Georgie leaned against the tree and tried to ignore the near burning sensation in his left ankle. He didn't want to look, already hearing the earful he was bound to get from his mother about being more careful on his bike, like his brother. (Which was stupid. Had she even _seen_ him ride silver. He swore that thing was a horse.) He looked up at the spiraling branches and allowed himself to slump over the tree he would've climbed if he hadn't crashed his stupid bike.

The sound of leaves crunching behind him caused his blood to run cold.

"Hiya, twerp." A voice from behind him purred at the same time a hand landed on his shoulder. His eyes widened, but he didn't move a muscle. At least two other voices laughed mercilessly behind him. "Lost your tongue?" The grip on his shoulder tightened.

Georgie's heart pounded like that of a frightened animal, every muscle taut and ready to run. He tried to stand.

"Leave me al-" He was suddenly slammed back, the hand now digging its fingernails into his skin.

"Are you telling me what to do?" He could feel the bully's hot breath on his cheek and swallowed hard.

"N-No Henry!" He stammered. Henry laughed, the sound making Georgie want to scream.

"You sound like your b-b-brother." He shouted the last word right into his ear, the sound ringing in his head along with the mocking laughter of his accomplices. Georgie wished he could disappear. He settled for squeezing his eyes shut and praying he'd live to see tomorrow. Something jabbed him in the ribs and he yelped in surprise, catching his first glimpse of Patrick's knowing smirk.

"So," He drawled, brushing his greasy brown hair out of his eyes as he spoke. "Down in the barrens all alone?" Georgie's hands began to tremble. He turned his head in time to catch Henry's eyes light up with an eager gleam.

"No other losers here to protect you?" Georgie made another attempt to get away and felt someone grab his yellow backpack. He fought to keep from sliding in the slick mud, his chest heaving as the three effortlessly dragged him back. Henry tore the pack from him and threw it to the ground, stomping on it a few times for good measure.

"They aren't losers, Henry!" He wheezed, giving one last good tug before Henry slammed him into the tree. Georgie flinched back as Henry's face came back into his line of sight, his features contorted into a snarl.

"What was that, loser boy?" He growled, jerking Georgie to his feet with a burst of force. "Are you saying that Fatboy ain't a loser like you?" Georgie's shoulderblades connected with the rough bark behind him. He fell forward and Henry shoved him again. "Are you saying that Trashmouth Tozier is actually a really swell guy?"

 **SLAM.**

"That bitchy Beverly is actually brilliant?"

 **SLAM.**

"That Stan _Urine_ just needs to get his act together?" His shoulders were starting to go numb from the continuous pain, but Henry was far from done.

"That Eddie isn't a wheezing idiot?"

 **SLAM.**

"Sayin' that Mike isn't just a nigger?"

 **SLAM.**

Henry drew close for the last word, holding Georgie against the tree and letting his acidic voice ooze into his ear.

"Saying that st-st-stuttering Bill isn't just a p-poor sc-sc-scared kid like you?" Henry's words hit home and buried themselves deep in his head like daggers.

"I think he is, Henry." Victor's voice chimed in. The thug cracked his knuckles and Henry nodded his agreement.

"How about we show him our side of the argument?" He slammed Georgie against the tree for emphasis, a sick grin sliding across his face when Georgie whimpered and tried to get away. His hand fell into his pocket and Georgie's face drained of color as he pulled out a small knife. He ran his fingers over the blade without breaking eye-contact. "Well?" He growled. Georgie's shaking gave way to a panicked thrashing.

Henry grunted in response to this and lifted him by his shoulders against the tree. "Help me!" He snapped at his groupies. Victor and Patrick's hands joined their leader's and soon, they had him raised him a head above them on the tree. The rough bark scraped his back and prompted him to yelp once more. Victor grinned and looked up through his blond bangs.

"Well, Bowers, what do we do with this one?" Georgie's wide eyes fell back to the knife. Henry smirked when he saw Georgie's gaze wander and he pulled the knife up to his face. Georgie watched the blade as he swung it back and forth, inches from his nose. He couldn't even breathe. He dared not, not with Bowers' blade so close. Henry pressed the cold steel against his cheek. Georgie's lips puckered like that of a fish and he struggled to form words.

"H-Henry ple-" He gasped when Bowers withdrew and pushed both hands firmly against his shoulder blades. Patrick and Victor retreated behind him, but he could still see their leering grins. "Please!" He spluttered. "I-I promise I'll n-never come back!" Victor's taunting grin stretched wider.

"Keep on stuttering, loser boy!" He jeered. Their raucous laughter rained down on his ears and he bit his lip to keep from crying.

"Never again, I promise!" He whimpered. "I'll never come back a-" Once more, he was slammed against the tree. He could feel new scrapes on his back now and squeezed his eyes shut tight as the blade began to trail down his jaw to stop at his chin.

"Oh, you won't be _able_ to come back," Henry affirmed. "Not after I'm done with you." Georgie could smell his breath and wrinkled his nose, trying his best to melt into the tree behind him. Henry shoved him harder and his face crumpled. Tears rolled down his cheeks as the blade was pressed closer to him. More insults rained down along with more shoving, but the knife was a constant. He swallowed hard.

"Henry, please." He opened his eyes a crack and gazed into those of the beast in front of him.

"Did ya hear that?" Henry growled, not moving the knife an inch from where it rested. "Little fucking loser boy says he's sorry." Patrick stuck out his tongue at Georgie and Victor snickered.

"What a little twerp." He mused. "Well Henry, I think he's made his choice." Patrick nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh, I do. Henry?" Henry's eyes slid from Victor to Patrick before settling on Georgie. Georgie fought the growing urge to scream as the knife was drawn away from him, the bully raising the wickedly sharp tool above his head.

"I believe that he has, but-" Henry's hands dropped suddenly and Georgie collapsed on the forest floor in a heap. He pulled his hands protectively around himself and balled up defensively, shoulders shaking. "I think we should give him a chance, don't you agree boys?" The way he said it made Georgie's blood turn to ice in his veins.

He peered through his fingers at the towering figures for a few seconds before Henry's gaze fell back to him. His lips curled in distaste. "Get the bike." Georgie tried to push himself to his feet, prompting Victor to kick him in the small of his back.

"Stay where you are." He hissed through his teeth. Georgie didn't need to be told twice. He kept his cheek pressed against the soft dirt as the sound of his bike being rolled through the leaves drew closer to him. The cold front tire plowed over one of his hands. All he could do was whimper and pull his hand under himself.

"Lift it." Georgie looked up through his tears and was firmly knocked in the back of the head by Victor again. That didn't stop him from scrambling to get to his feet, his jeans now thoroughly coated in twigs and mud. Patrick had the bike lifted on his broad shoulders and was standing dangerously close to the edge of the water. He wobbled, but did not fall as he took a few steps closer, Henry watching him go with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"HEY, THAT'S MY BIKE!" Georgie threw caution to the winds and began to run at Patrick, only to be yanked back by Victor. Henry barked out a laugh and walked toward Georgie with his shoulders raised. Georgie flailed his arms, looking like an attacking windmill. His fists didn't connect with Henry's form in the slightest, slicing through the empty air with the kind of desperation you'd see in a fish out of water.

Henry pressed his cold hand to Georgie's forehead and locked eyes with him, that same, taunting, sick excuse for a smile on his lips.

"Throw it in." He whispered, just loud enough so his voice reached his partners in crime.

"WAIT!" Georgie begged, wrenching himself from Victor's grip and staggering forward a few feet. He watched in horror as the bike was lifted high into the air by Patrick. "PLEASE!" He choked out. Patrick grunted in response, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Henry let go of Georgie and stalked toward Patrick.

"THROW THE FUCKING BIKE!" He roared.

"NO!" But it was too late to do anything but watch. With a shuddering heave, Patrick lifted it higher still above his head and thrust his arms toward the river. The bike flew from his hands and hit the murky water with a resounding splash that echoed through the barrens like a gunshot. The water turned near white, spraying upward like a cloud before falling back to the river below. Georgie's throat formed a knot as the trio high-fived.

He really, really, wanted to use one of Richie's cuss-words now.

"Stay out of the barrens, loser, or we'll be back!" Henry threatened, pushing him once more from behind before trotting proudly in the opposite direction, his thugs stopping to throw a few more insults Georgie's way before following their leader.

That was his breaking point.

He spun around with tears in his eyes. His hands formed white fists that quivered at his sides, covered in disgusting grime from the forest floor.

"FUCK YOU!" He screamed, his throat raw from crying. "YOU'RE JUST A BUNCH OF UGLY _FUCKERS_!" He sank to his knees and sobbed, wishing that he'd just stop crying like a _little fucking loser boy_. He scrubbed furiously at his face until his cheeks were red and his eyes burned. He wished he was stronger. He wished he was big enough to scare them away. But, most importantly, he wished Bill and his friends were there to help him.

His sobs turned into a sad laugh as he began to shout every single one of the words that Richie had been yelled at for using, knowing that if his Mother heard him, he'd be confined to his room for a thousand years. He didn't care. He shouted until he couldn't make any more noise, his throat knotted too tightly for him to speak.

He cried until there was nothing left to cry for. He could still hear their taunting voices in his head and tried desperately to block them out, his shoulders shaking profusely. After what seemed like hours, he rose to his feet and began to trudge toward the river, stopping every few seconds to wipe his swollen eyes.

He hesitated at the waters edge for a moment, scanning brownish waves for any sign of his trusty bicycle. But as he looked in vain, the sad reality fell upon him like a ton of bricks. Stopping only to roll up his jeans, he took a deep breath and stepped into the river. Water surged around his ankles, threatening to knock him off his feet entirely.

It leaked into his shoes making his every step feel like he was walking on pudding, squishing around between his toes and chilling him to the bone. He kept walking until the waves lapped around his waist. Before he lost hope, he began to rummage around in search of his bike. His hands fell through the water, sloshing around aimlessly in the cold liquid, fumbling to grab onto something- anything that could be a part of his bike.

He forced himself to keep moving forward as his fingers began to numb. Even as the bruises on his back began to burn, he kept looking. The sunny sky seemed to taunt him with its pleasantness, the sound of birds chirping in the woods making a heavy weight settle in his chest. He kicked at the water crossly, his foot suddenly connecting with-

"YES!" His slick fingers hooked around the handlebars and he gave it a hearty tug, his muscles straining under the pressure, the bike suddenly seeming to weigh a million pounds. He braced his feet on the rocks below him and gave it another yank.

That, of course, was when his ankle decided to act up again, causing his foot to slip from its perch on the rock.

He couldn't even cry out before his head was submerged. His eyes instinctively fell shut. A barrage of rocks scraped at him from the stream bed and he struggled to get to the surface, his light body being dragged by the rushing water against the rough debris. Sticks and roots scratched his face as he floated past, panic surging through him.

 _He could drown._

That thought spurred his body into action, and in a flurry of motion, he thrust his hand forward and grabbed the first thing they brushed against. The tree roots he had latched onto grew taught, but didn't snap. He clawed frantically at them, feeling them begin to slip from his grasp. With one final attempt, he kicked the bottom and launched himself forward and out of the water.

His hands slid across the grass and the dirt broke away under his weight as he blearily stumbled out of the water. He stood, stock still for a few moments, taking in what had just happened.

 _He could have died._

The thought served to cause all of the adrenaline rushing through him to drain out of his limbs, leaving them aching and hanging limply at his sides. He felt a familiar tightness in the back of his throat and began to shuffle his feet in the direction of his crushed backpack, snatching it from the ground and shouldering it without looking inside, already knowing that his comic books would be crumpled beyond repair.

He left the barrens without looking back, limping in the direction of his house with his head down. His soggy sneakers left dark footprints on the dusty concrete. He felt absolutely pathetic. Like the whole world was laughing at him behind their hands, but refusing to help him when he needed it. The birdsong mocked him. The sun laughed at him, and in that moment, he thought that nobody would notice if he simply fell off the face of the earth.

To put it into simple terms, he felt like a loser.

He half-walked half-dragged himself home, the foot he had landed on and crushed dragging uselessly behind him on the concrete. He kicked at the puddles forming in the gutter with the other and tried to ignore the patches of mud drying on his face.

* * *

The door rattled on its hinges when he thrust it open and stalked in the direction of his bedroom with the sole intent of avoiding anyone and everyone for the rest of the day. He stared at the ground and trudged to his room without doing so much as looking up. That, of course, was why he almost walked into Bill.

He tried to sidestep his older brother without avail, grudgingly looking up to meet his concerned gaze.

"What happened to you?" He asked gently, closing his sketchbook with a snap. Georgie sighed heavily and began to tug at the straps of his crushed yellow bag.

"Bowers and his goons threw my bike into the river." He explained, his head sinking closer to his shoulders with each word. His gaze drifted from that of Bill, not wanting to see the pitying look in his eyes. "I tried getting it out, but I fell, and…" He shrugged in what he hoped was a casual fashion.

"Hey," Bill rested his hand on Georgie's shoulder reassuringly, giving it a small squeeze in an attempt to get a smile. Georgie couldn't hold back a sad laugh in response. "Why don't we go look t-together? No way those mouth-breathers still have the at-attention spans to still be down there." He pointed out. His eyes silently pleaded Georgie to agree with him.

"Okay." He whispered. Bill's smile grew just a little more genuine at that, his hand moving to ruffle Georgie's hair.

"Why don't you go p-put some dry clothes on, then meet me outside?"

"Okay." He agreed, a little louder and with more feeling, his slumping shoulders lifting a smidgeon. He stepped around Bill and shot him a sideways smile over his shoulder before swinging open his bedroom door.

"M-Meet me out front when you're ready!" He grinned broadly.

"Okay, Bi-" He froze mid-step and gazed into his room. "-lly" He finished quietly. His jaw fell open as he surveyed his bedroom. It was almost as he had left it, his bed made, his lamp sitting proudly on his sturdy bedside table, but those things weren't bothering him in the least.

The thing bothering him, was his blue bicycle.

It stood in the center of the room, shining as though it had been polished. Georgie took a few hesitant steps forward, his eyes trailing the length of his trusty bike and settling on the red balloon clinging to the handlebars. He laid a hand on the seat and grinned upon realizing that it was _real_.

He flew to the front door and flung it open, practically buzzing with excitement. Bill opened his mouth to comment, but Georgie grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back into his room. "Look!" Bill tried to pull away in the doorway, a confused look crossing his face.

"Juh-Georgie, I-"

"Look!" Georgie watched as he slowly looked up from his wrist to take in the puzzling sight.

"Wh-What the hell?" He breathed, taking a hesitant step forward. "I thought you said that it-"

"Got thrown in the river!" Georgie finished for him. "I know, but look!" He pointed to the balloon. "Penny brought it back for me!" Bill shook his head.

"P-Penny's imaginary." He stated flatly. "I don't know how th-the bike came b-back, but it wasn't Penny." Something about the tone he was using made it sound like he was trying to convince himself of that fact rather than Georgie. Georgie was hearing none of it.

"No, he's real! Just look, it's a red balloon from his circus! And-" He took a deep breath. "It smells like popcorn!" Bill wrinkled his nose.

"It smells l-like river water." He corrected. Georgie wanted to press him again, but once again, he settled for crossing his arms and biting his cheek. "N-Now," Bill turned to him with a somewhat kinder expression. "Let's get you fixed up before Mom gets ho-home."

He could've sworn he heard something akin to fear in his older brother's voice, but chose to ignore it. After all, Penny wasn't scary. Whatever had Bill so worked up _couldn't_ be his new friend.

Who _wasn't_ imaginary.


	3. Chapter 3

**Finally, a chapter with the rest of the losers! Swear warning as per usual, along with mentions of Beverly's abusive father. This chapter is a lot more lighthearted than the last, but it isn't all happy. Also, thanks so much for the kind words! You guys are what I write for! Enjoy the chapter!**

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Bill hammered on his younger brother's door for what had to be the thirtieth time that morning, his patience wearing thin as seconds ticked by. "JUH-GEORGIE! C'MON!" He shouted irritably. The sound of bedsheets being torn off of a mattress followed his words, causing him to add: "If you're not out here in f-f-five minutes, I'm leaving wi-without you!" There was a crash from within the room along with the sound of clothes hitting the floor with a panicked sort of haste. Bill smiled and shook his head fondly, knowing full well that his brother was nowhere near ready to go and meet the gang.

Richie was hardly ever on time anyway, and Georgie was practically stuck to the other boy's side whenever they were in the same room, when he wasn't asking Stan a thousand questions about birds. Both would complain sometimes, but Bill knew they both secretly loved the attention the seven-year-old was _more_ than willing to give them. Before he could become too lost in his thoughts, he turned his attention back to the door decorated with turtles and banged on it again, harder this time. "Suh-sometime today!"

"COMING!" Georgie hollered. Bill listened as the banging noises became more frantic, less spaced out, and altogether hectic as the boy within fought with his pyjamas and tugged on his clothes. With a final creak of protest from the floorboards, Georgie emerged in all of his glory, his hair swept awkwardly across his face to obscure his bright eyes. He was quick to brush his bangs out of his eyes and look up at Bill with a grin on his face.

He tugged at the strings of his yellow hoodie before striding forward, trying- unsuccessfully- to hide his excitement. "I'm ready to go, Billy!" He chirped. Bill shook his head firmly.

"Guh-go eat something." Georgie's face fell near instantly.

"You're going without me?" Bill snorted and leaned forward to ruffle his hair.

"Course not." He reassured him. "But you sh-should eat something first." Georgie looked ready to argue but Bill silenced him by turning on his heel and striding in the direction of the door. "I'm j-just going to fuh-fix Silver up a bit, okay?"

"Okay." Georgie seconded, running to Bill's side to grab him around the waist and stare up at him with his big brown eyes. "Promise?" He asked. Bill smiled.

"Of cuh-course." Georgie grinned up at him. Bill almost felt bad for crossing his fingers behind his back as the younger boy bounded to the parlour to snag a muffin.

Bill knew he wouldn't have long to wait before he was back at his side, so he quickened his step, letting his feet carry him out of the front door and to the pair of bikes parked neatly out front, looking like two dogs waiting for their masters to return. Bill ran his hands over Silver's rusted frame. "Not yet." He whispered to it, letting his fingers run over the dents in the handlebars before pulling away. Silver was in pristine condition, as always. The bike he was worried about, was Georgie's.

He stared at it, wondering idly if it would disappear before his very eyes, but the bike remained, its blue paint gleaming in the sunlight as it waited for Bill to touch it. It seemed to call to him, which was _ridiculous_. It was a bike, not some sort of child-eating-demon. Bill still couldn't bring himself to even touch it, the smell of what he _knew_ wasn't popcorn clinging to it like a foul musk to a wild animal. He had to take a deep breath before laying his hand on the cheery paint, just to calm his racing heart. It was stupid, really, to be afraid of a bike. He hated that he had to fight to convince himself that was true.

He knelt next to it and poked at the spokes, his eyes scanning the chain for any kinks or breaks in the metal. He ran his finger along the edge and inspected it further, the links cool on his hands. He pulled away with hesitance, wiping the grease stains on his hands across his pants, leaving twin smears across his jeans. He hardly batted an eye, standing to feel the seat instead, searching for anything sharp, not wanting to be responsible for anything bad happening to the kid.

He almost wanted to find something, just to prove to Georgie that Penny was nothing more than imaginary, but the lack of anything dangerous was driving him up the wall.

 _And_ , it still didn't explain how it ended up in his bedroom with a red balloon. He didn't want to admit how long he had stared at the red balloon, a feeling of dread causing his stomach to twist into a tight knot of sheer fear, the room near electric. The hairs on the back of his neck had stood on end as though Georgie had left his window open.

He hadn't.

As he further inspected the bike, he couldn't hold back more skeptical thoughts regarding Georgie's _friend._ It was impossible for it to have brought the bike back, and Georgie wasn't one to lie. Bill had no trouble believing that the Bowers gang had attacked his little brother, it had happened enough times. But the part that he was finding hard to swallow was the fact that the bike had been returned. Someone would've noticed if their house was broken into, surely. And for the intruder to be carrying a bike? It just didn't make sense.

But, as his hands wandered up and down the pristine bike, he came to his conclusion. The bike, was just that. A bike. A blue bike that somehow had magically appeared in his younger brother's room after being tossed into the river.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door behind him swung open on squealing hinges. He threw his leg over Silver's sturdy frame and rested on the seat, watching with a forced smile as Georgie galloped over to his own ride.

"I had a muffin!" He proclaimed.

"Knew it." Bill booted the kickstand into place and began to pedal forward. "C'mon, or R-Richie will beat us th-there!" That was all the convincing Georgie needed to spur the bike forward and out of their yard. Bill looked toward the road as Silver began to pick up speed and he stood up on the pedals, loving the feeling of wind in his hair. He let it blow all thoughts of 'Mr. Penny' out of his head, and with every noise of metal-on-metal that Silver let out, he felt just a little better about- well- everything.

He would never admit it, of course, but on the day Georgie had gone out all alone with his little paper boat, something inside of him just _screamed_ that his brother was in danger. And not just in danger of a fall, or a bruised forehead, no. Bill was almost certain that something absolutely horrifying was going to happen to Georgie while he had been immobilized by fever. It was stupid, really, but the fear gluing him to the bed had felt so real, so cold and sharp, he was positive that he'd never see Georgie again. He didn't want to admit how he had stared at the ceiling and said a silent prayer for his brother's safe return as the piano downstairs played the tune Für Elise. It seemed to last for hours. Hours of waiting to hear Georgie's screams from the window. Days of wanting to be anything but as useless as he was. Years of feeling his head burn and sweat drip down his back.

And then- Georgie had come home. Wet and waterlogged, but with a joy that warmed him from head to toe. He would _never_ admit to practically leaping down all the stairs in a single bound when he heard his brother call him down.

He wasn't even mad about the boat, not really. It was only his cold that stopped him from scooping his brother up in his arms and holding him close, just for a second. He'd be able to blame it on being more than a little loopy off his meds (As they _all_ knew Eddie had been in the past) and that would be that.

"Wait!" Bill slammed on the brakes and nearly went flying over the handlebars as Silver screeched to a stop. He shot Georgie a dirty look.

"Wh-What the hell, Georgie?" He snapped. Georgie looked a little bit sheepish as he dismounted and began to pull his bike toward Bill, crossing the arguably large distance between them until he was at his brother's side.

"Could you slow down a little?" He asked, looking as though he was asking Bill to carry out his own death sentence. Bill's glare turned into a soft smile.

"Course." He slid off of Silver's seat with ease and began to walk his beast of a bike, Georgie's looking ever so small in comparison. The small grin he earned as a reward was more than enough to make up for being late.

"So," Georgie looked at the passing houses as he spoke, a hundred unsaid thoughts rushing about in his head. "Why exactly did Richie call you in a panic last night?" Bill let out a small laugh.

"They went to the N-Neibolt house, H-Him and Bev."

"Why?" Bill shrugged.

"D-Dunno. Riche was too p-panicked to say an-anything other than fuh-fuck and shit. It's a w-wonder I got anything out of him at all."

"Why was he panicked?" Georgie asked. Bill hesitated for a moment before deciding to be truthful.

"Well, I couldn't guh-get much out of him, y-you know T-Trashmouth. Buh-but, he said that it always seemed ruh-really creepy to him, juh-just the whole place, y'know?" Georgie nodded. "An-Anyway, th-they said it was no-normal, except for the smell."

"The smell?" Georgie echoed.

"L-Like something from the o-old drainage tunnel. Se-sewer water." He knew that his brother wouldn't sleep that night, but he hardly cared. "And downstairs, B-Bev and Richie kept s-saying that they were hearing this creepy n-nursery rhyme about oranges? M-Mike said it was super old, like from the seventeen-hundred-"

"Oh, Billy! Wait a sec!" Georgie rolled his bike to a stop and pushed down the kickstand of his bike. Bill watched him slide off of the seat and reach into his pocket, fumbling for a moment before his hand closed around something. "Mr. Penny?" He asked, a small grin finding his face. "Thanks for getting my bike back!" Bill could've sworn he saw something glimmer in the dark opening, but once he blinked, it was gone. That same feeling of unease began to creep back into his bones as his brother drew a small bag of popcorn from his pocket, along with a couple of hot cocoa packets. "I brought you some popcorn since yours blew away in that storm! And some hot cocoa packets 'cause I bet it gets cold down there." Bill smiled softly as Georgie rested the offerings in the leaves.

He shot Bill an innocent smile as he straddled his bicycle once more, only stopping to say a cheerful: "Hope you like them! Bye, Mr. Penny!" over his shoulder. The two pedaled forward a few feet before Bill spoke again.

"You really th-think that your imaginary f-friend from the sewers is the one that b-brought your bike back?" Georgie nodded enthusiastically.

"How else did it get in my room with a red balloon? I just wanted to say thank you." Adding under his breath: "And he's _not_ imaginary." Bill rolled his eyes, the near-horrific prickling sensation in his stomach completely forgotten.

" just better not have been the k-kettle-corn from the fair." Georgie began to pedal faster, Bill keeping pace easily astride Silver.

"I only took _some_ of it."

"G-Georgie!" Georgie, however, had already shot ahead a few feet, his legs pumping madly as he raced along the street. Bill grit his teeth and pedaled harder.

Had either of them turned to look back, they would've seen a pair of gloved hands reach up from the sewer and delicately grab the offerings, pulling them into the darkness.

Georgie kept shooting glances over his shoulder at Bill, cackling madly in a way that only a seven-year-old child can. He wasn't even mad, not really. He just wanted to get into the competitive spirit, and what better way to do it than to race his sibling to the Barrens?

"Shit and shinola!" He heard Georgie shout as Silver's huge front tire began to overlap his shadow. Bill grinned, standing up on the pedals and coasting past Georgie with ease.

"I'm g-going to beat you th-" This time, it wasn't his stutter that caused him to stop. He was stopped by a sharp cry of:

"Look out!" from Georgie. Bill slammed on the brakes for the second time that morning and felt the back tire begin to skid out of control, leaving a black line on the street in its wake. He screeched to a halt, his heart hammering heavily in his ears, but-

Georgie began to cackle and he shot past Bill, nothing more than a blue blur. "Gotcha!" He crowed. If looks could kill, Georgie would have winked out of existence in an instant, leaving his bike to freewheel right off the road.

"You little sh-shit!" Bill leapt off of Silver and grabbed the handlebars, putting his head down like that of a charging bull as he tried to coax Silver out of its dormant state. He began to barrel forwards, the clink clink clink of the chains beneath him drilling into his skull. Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he kept on pedaling, sweat beading on his brow even though the morning was cold. His hot breath fogged up the air and he lowered his head, giving Silver one more good kick to keep it going as he stood on the pedals once more. He could see Georgie's bike wobbling and pushed himself to keep on pedaling like a crazy person.

Georgie looked over his shoulder and Bill grinned as his face drained completely of color. "Gotta be fuh-faster than that!" He taunted as he crept ever closer. Georgie squealed in response and stood up on the pedals. Bill didn't do so much as slow down.

"Bill!" Georgie shouted. Bill stuck out his tongue as he zipped past.

"Gonna b-beat 'ya!" He knew he was the textbook definition of a big brother when he rolled into the Barrens, a huge, somewhat cocky grin in place on his face. Georgie wasn't too far behind, but even though he was tired, it couldn't stop the scowl that slid onto his face.

"Cheater." He huffed, sliding off of his bike so he could properly cross his arms. Bill playfully knocked shoulders with him.

"I'm n-not the one who caused the uh-other to slam on the buh-brakes." He quipped. Georgie sighed, but Bill could see the small smile on his lips. "Cuh-come on, the others are probably waiting." That caused Georgie to stop hiding his smile.

"Really?" Bill didn't have time to respond before his suspicions were confirmed.

"Oh, come on!" Richie's voice rang through the trees. "I'm not going to die, Eds! It's a leaf, for fuck's sake!" Bill grinned and began to quicken his pace in the direction of the shout, already able to see flashes of Richie's eye-bleedingly bright hawaiian T-shirt through the trees.

Bill was about to turn to Georgie to prompt him in the direction of the gang, but the boy was already bounding ahead, the strings of his yellow hoodie bobbing unevenly on his chest. It didn't take him long to follow close behind. The scene he walked into was one that instantly caused his already wide smile to stretch impossibly wider.

Eddie was standing on a tree stump, pointing an accusing finger at Richie as he yelled something unintelligible about diseases and animal shit, hands fiddling weakly with his inhaler. Mike however, was his polar opposite, leaning forward and tapping his fingers on his thighs, eyes fixated on the object of Eddie's discomfort.

"You can't just eat leaves!" Eddie shrieked, "You're going to give me a fucking asthma attack!" Ben was laughing so hard her could hardly make any noise, his shoulders shaking with frenzied giggles. Bill could practically _hear_ Stan roll his eyes. Richie looked up at Georgie with the biggest shit-eating grin that Bill had ever seen, a leaf hanging from between his lips.

"Why are you eating a leaf?" Georgie questioned between giggles. Richie held up one finger, causing Eddie to gag.

"If you swallow it, you're dead to me." He threatened. Richie shrugged.

"I'm already dead if I eat this anyway, if what you say is true." He managed to say around a mouthful of leaf. Stan choked on the laughter he was holding back, letting it out in a sort of gasping bark.

"Suicide attempt," he wheezed "I can see the headlines: Local boy killed by leaf."

"T-Tragedy." Bill agreed. Georgie was already at Richie's side, peering curiously at the boy who was now doubled over, holding up his glasses with one hand to keep them from falling off.

"What're you doing?" Richie made an exaggerated gulping noise and Eddie let out a high-pitched whine.

"Don't you dare!" Eddie's voice was nearing a screech now, sounding just a little more frantic. He turned his wide-eyed gaze to Stan. "Did he fucking swallow it?" Stan shook his head.

"Not yet." Georgie's eyebrows knit together.

"What's he doing?" Mike chuckled.

"This loser," He pointed to Richie, causing the accused to lay a hand over his heart dramatically. "Was pretending to lick a leaf, which, of course, set Eddie off." Stan nodded, brushing a few stray curls behind his ear before continuing Mike's narrative.

"And so Eddie's ranting on and on about-" He laughed, cutting himself off. He had to brace himself against a tree until his frenzied giggles stopped. "About how you can get some disease-"

"Not a disease," Eddie cut in. " _Poison_. Deadly poison." Richie rolled his eyes dramatically and began to tip his head back. "SWEAR TO GOD, RICH!"

"Right," Stan continued, "That. Anyway, that led to Richie saying, and I quote-" Richie grinned widely.

"I've got this one, my man." Richie cleared his throat, but momentarily forgot that his mouth was full of leaves. This, of course, led to him inhaling a mouthful of leaves and gagging as one got stuck in his throat. Eddie instantly began prancing about on his stump whilst screaming:

"I FUCKING KNEW IT!" Richie hammered on his chest once and coughed feebly.

"I said-" He croaked. Bill cringed as something green dripped from Richie's mouth. Richie followed Bill's gaze and tried to wipe it from his chin with little success, leaving a bright smear across his jawline. "I said-" He tried again, only managing to make it worse, to everyone except Eddie's amusement. "That-" A gob of something green was visible between his two front teeth. Georgie giggled, which of course, caused Richie to grin wider. Eddie gagged again. "That I could probably eat five of them and be fine, because they'd taste better than his Mom did last night."

"Beep beep, Richie." Mike warned, jutting his chin out in the direction of Georgie. Richie waved him off.

"He's fine, right Georgie?"

"Yep!" Bill rolled his eyes and moved to sit beside Mike.

"How long's huh-he been ch-chewing on those?" Mike flashed him a wide grin.

"Few minutes? Eddie can probably give you the time to the second." They both leaned forward as Richie turned back to Eddie. "I wish we had popcorn." Mike mumbled. Bill covered his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter.

"You know what," Eddie threw his hands up in the air and stalked over to where Bill sat. "It's your funeral." This sent both Ben and Stan back into hysterics. Richie surveyed his audience with a gleam in his eyes that made Bill more than a little bit nervous. It was the signature Trashmouth look, the 'Hey, look at me!' sort of look he usually put on when he was about to do something stupid. Bill wasn't wrong.

With a theatrical sort of flourish, he tipped his head back and swallowed the leaves in one gulp. Eddie looked like he wanted to scream.

"You're disgusting." He spat. Richie shrugged.

"Maybe so." He licked his lips and Bill noticed that his tongue was tinted with a toxic looking green. "Still tasted better than your Mom did last night." With that, he bent at the waist and bowed low, holding up his glasses with a green stained finger to keep them from falling off of his nose. Georgie applauded enthusiastically while Ben and Stan hooted their approval. Eddie glared at Richie until the giggles coming from the rest of the losers ceased.

"As much as I cherish every moment spent with you," He growled. "I really hope this isn't the reason you called me, _and my mother_ while doing a god awful mexican-"

"Pancho Vanilla, senor." He corrected, but his smile faded with his next words. "No," He broke off into nervous laughter. "God, I wish." Something about Richie's tone of voice made Bill's stomach knot. He shifted his weight from one side to the other in a sort of nervous fashion as Richie wiped his tongue on his shirt and cleared his throat once more. "Can I wait 'til Bev's here?" He asked.

"Sh-She's coming?" Richie nodded.

"Si, senor." Mike leaned further back toward the tree he was propped up against.

"Depends if her psycho dad lets her come." He pointed out. Georgie frowned.

"Psycho Dad?" He repeated uncertainly. Richie opened his mouth to respond, but Bill was quick to cut him off.

"Beep buh-beep, Richie." They all knew Beverly's home life was far from perfect, but Georgie didn't need to know why she showed up with bruises on her arms some days, or with nasty gashes on her knees. They'd all seen the scars. All, that is, except for Georgie, and they intended to keep it that way.

"Ah, he couldn't keep me away if he tried." All eyes turned in the direction of the feminine voice, and they all pretended not to notice how Ben sat up just a little straighter.

"Bevvie!" Georgie was the first one to move, prancing through the trees to give her a hug. Bill would never say just how much he liked to hear her laugh.

"Hey, Georgie!" She said between melodic giggles. Bill watched as Georgie tugged her into the circle by the hem of her spotted summer top, oblivious to the eyes on him. Bev's smile faded once she saw the solemn expression on Richie's face. "Neibolt?" He nodded meekly.

"Wanted you to be here, but you're here now, so…" Richie rubbed at the back of his neck nervously and coughed, causing Eddie to elbow Mike in the ribs. Bill managed to overhear Eddie saying something about how:

"He's been poisoned, see?" Mike scoffed.

"Nah, he's fine. Just nervous." Bill's stomach twisted unpleasantly upon hearing that Richie, of all people, was nervous

"Yuh-Yeah." Bill agreed. Ben and Stan had both sobered up once Beverly appeared and sat at attention. Even Eddie had calmed down enough to take his eyes off of Richie as he sat next to Georgie, Beverly on the other side of the smaller boy.

"Do you want me to start?" Beverly asked, her questioning gaze connecting with Richie's. Richie nodded.

"Si, Senorita." She cuffed him on the shoulder playfully before turning her attention the ensemble.

"Okay, so. Neibolt street." The clearing was silent as she gauged their reactions. Bill silently willed away the blush on his cheeks and the way her gaze made his thoughts blur together like the words that left his mouth. She laughed nervously. "Where do I even begin?" She stood and began to pace, nervously fiddling with the folds of her dress. "Everything inside was normal, I guess, for Neibolt. It was this idiot's idea to go into the basement." Richie let out a small squeak of indignance.

"Your idea." He corrected. Beverly rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. We weren't down there for very long anyway." Richie slumped forward and averted his eyes, mumbling something that nobody could make out under his breath. "So, we're walking around in the pitch-darkness, both of us bitching about our lack of flashlights when-"

Richie shuddered. "The fucking singing started."

"Singing?" Stan asked, his voice showing how much he didn't want to know, but also how much he knew somebody had to ask.

"Yeah, singing, if you can even call it that. It came from the well past the puppet room full of clowns." Bill was surprised that Richie could even get the words out of his mouth from the way he was shaking. "It kinda, echoed…" He pushed his glasses up into his hairline and let out a groan. "Jesus." He har to take a few deep breaths before continuing. George shifted over to him wide eyes, sidestepping Eddie in order to get closer. "We ran after hearing that shit, we didn't even have to say anything to each other, we just kinda-" Richie searched for the right word for a moment. "Knew." He settled with. "Like, dunno, we read each other's minds or something."

"No," Beverly corrected, moving to tug at Richie's shirt. "We just fucking ran."

"True." Richie admitted. "God, I can still fucking hear it, just the tune." Mike propped his chin on his hands, letting his feet shuffle nervously beneath him.

"Oranges and lemons…" Bill frowned, not wanting to acknowledge the prickling sort of anxiety sparking into existence in the back of his mind. Georgie, however, didn't seem to mind. His gaze kept shooting from Richie back to Beverly, his questioning gaze lingering on them until they looked away. Bill knew he wanted to speak up, but also knew that he could sense the tension leaking off of all of them.

"Oranges and lemons?" He watched as Georgie tried to make eye-contact with the losers. "What does that even mean?"

"It's a nursery rhyme." Mike answered, his voice uncertain, as though he didn't want to keep speaking. Bill knew the feeling well. He had enough problems with speaking to know. Every time somebody teased him for his stutter and he knew that defending himself would just make it worse, he still wanted to, just to prove them wrong. Every time he would stand in front of his Mother in the dining room, hands clenched into fists that quivered at his sides and his jaw so tightly shut, he thought it would break off from the tension. Every time he would open his mouth with her eyes on him, trying to make sense of all the noise.

 _He thrusts his fists_

"It's about churches."

 _Against the posts_

"How's that scary?"

 _And still insists_

"Look, when you hear it while in the basement of a house that could collapse at any given moment."

 _He sees the ghosts_

"It's pretty fucking terrifying." Bill could tell Richie was fighting hard to keep his voice under control. Even Eddie looked like he was showing the boy some sympathy, his gaze infinitely softer than it had been mere minutes ago. "We hardly even talked on the way back."

"I cuh-can see why." Silence descended in heavy waves in the barrens, not even the birds were singing as they all thought over the words that had been shared. It was crazy, really. Batshit insane, as Richie would not-so-delicately put it. Bill couldn't say he disagreed. "D-Do you remember the tu-tune?"

The two who had been in the house paled and shared a glance.

"It's just a song." Richie reasoned. Beverly nodded.

"Right." Beverly agreed. "Not like it can follow us." She was the first one to start humming, and after a few bars, Richie joined in, adding his voice to the haunting melody. Bill felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand on end as slowly, Mike began to try and add words, despite his lack of a proper tune.

Uneasy looks were shared between all of them, Richie and Bev's eyes staying firmly squeezed shut, as if opening them would unleash an unspeakable evil onto the entire club. Bill wasn't sure he disagreed with the notion, as insane as it sounded. Even after they had stopped, the notes seemed to linger in the air along with Mike's uncertain words, leaving a near-electric sort of crackle in the air in its wake.

"That was…" Stan's voice trailed off uncertainly. "Wow." He settled with.

"Yeah." Eddie's voice cracked and he flushed beet red. "Shit." He mumbled, rubbing idly at his left arm, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes. Georgie was gripping Richie's hand tightly and bouncing his knees.

"You can open your eyes." The nervous way he was speaking made Bill feel a pang of sympathy. "Richie?" Richie slowly opened one eye.

"What, little dude?"

"Are you…" Georgie bit his lip. "Are you feeling okay?" He laid his hand on the other boy's knee.

"I'm always okay!" He insisted. "It was just," He shuddered violently. "God…"

"It's over n-now." Bll managed to get out. "You're huh-here with uh-us. It's suh-safe." The others nodded in agreement.

"And if it isn't, whatever was down there is getting the shit kicked out of it." Bev cracked a smile at Mike's words. Her green eyes widened and she blinked once, slowly, as if she was lost and just regaining her bearings. Bill offered her a small smile and tried to hide the flush his cheeks gained when she returned it.

Conversation was hesitant after that, the dark cloud of what had been said hanging over the small group, weighing on their shoulders with just how- real it was. Even Richie's constant jokes couldn't lighten the mood, no matter how many times he pinched Eddie, all he got were a few forced chuckles. Eddie hardly even reacted, just swatted him away and tried to refocus on the rest of the club. He ended up being the first to go, and before Bill had time to do so much as blink, he was walking his bike next to Georgie on the way home.

"They were pretty scared of that lemon song." Georgie stated after a few moments of silence.

"Yuh-Yeah." Bill agreed, shifting so he could push his hair back from where it hung on his forehead. "Let's just guh-get home, okay?" He silently begged Georgie to grasp the change of topic, not wanting to have to tell him about the creature that they all _knew_ was haunting the town.

"Okay, Billy!" Georgie chirped, straddling his blue bike. His yellow hoodie seemed to glow in the sunset, and Bill couldn't help but smile. "Do you think Penny liked his popcorn?" Bill swung his legs over Silver's back and began to pump.

"Puh-probably tastes better than wh-whatever's in the sewer." He panted between breaths. The steady clicking of Silver beneath him helped ease his mind.

"Sewer popcorn." Georgie mused. Bill grinned at that.

"Gross." _Let the kid have his fun._ After all, imaginary friends were harmless, and a clown in a sewer couldn't be the worst thing in Derry.


	4. Chapter 4

**This is where the gore warning kicks into effect! (Sorry, Bill...) Thank you all so much for your continued support of this story, as well as for all of your questions! For those of you wondering how closely this is going to follow the comic, it's going to be close. It will include most, if not all details and story arcs of the comic, plus some extra ideas that I'm going to implement, starting in this chapter! I'm so excited to bring this story to you, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!**

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It hated the way the floorboards creaked. In fact, It hated everything about the house. The way the ceiling seemed to leer down at It, how Penny had to duck under door frames and make a conscious effort to keep from knocking things off where they rested on their stupid shelves. It could hardly hold back a growl of agitation, nearly crushing the two packets resting in Its hand out of sheer rage. It was _stupid._ It wanted, oh, It wanted to ransack the whole household right then and there. Penny _knew_ that the _Problem_ had an older brother, and why only attack one? The fear of adults could work, in a pinch.

But no. Something inside told Penny to wait, to let this- this _pest_ stay alive for just a few moments longer. Penny grit Its teeth and hissed a breath through them, eyes narrowing into yellow slits as It surveyed the Denbrough's kitchen.

The sink gleamed in the moonlight that crested through the window. The still water beneath the curved spout looked like a grinning mouth, mocking It and Its feeble attempts to rid Itself of the child. Penny lumbered forward, hunching Its back unnaturally to finally take a look at the offerings left by the boy. It didn't want to admit having already eaten most of the popcorn after giving it a very careful once-over.

And Penny certainly would never admit that It really hadn't really minded the taste.

Penny's gaze flicked distastefully to the packages of cocoa in Its claw-like fingers before gingerly lifted one up to Its face in order to get a better look. The small words seemed to mash together in a sort of lump, which caused It to hurl the small packets at the counter, relishing in the sound of them hitting the back wall with two dull thuds. Penny's ruffled collar fell in time with Its ragged and unsteady breathing, self-disgust welling in Its chest because, It was worked up over _hot cocoa packets._ It; a being of immense power, angry, at what exactly? Oh yeah, cocoa packets.

Pathetic.

It snatched one of them off of the countertop and ripped the packaging slightly. A dark sort of grit flew through the air, sticking to Its pristine white ruffles with a smell that made it wrinkle Its nose in confusion. It raised the torn packet above Its face and experimentally stuck out Its tongue, dumping a small amount of the powder in Its mouth.

At first, It tasted nothing. But then, this hideous, vaguely sweet flavor began to blossom on Its tongue. Penny's face contorted into a scowl and It spat the mouthful of the stuff onto the counter. Such a foreign taste, an artificial flavor, the likes of which It had never tasted before. It didn't like it and assumed the kid was trying to _poison_ It. How else would you explain the horrific brown powder?

Penny stumbled back, but not before dropping the two packages on the counter in disgust. It turned on a clawed heel and began to stalk in the direction of the boy's room, rage boiling through It, when-

 _I brought you some popcorn since yours blew away in that storm! And some hot cocoa packets 'cause I bet it gets cold down there._

The kid hadn't _sounded_ like he was trying to poison It. It was that genuine sort of concern and caring It had only heard before when It had been called _lonely._ Just the thought made Penny shudder in disgust. It had to take a few calming breaths before snatching one of the packets again. Penny squinted at it closely, the text scrawled on the package dancing before its eyes before suddenly- it all clicked.

 _ **ADD HOT WATER**_

"Kettle." Penny's voice pitched oddly as It spoke the word with a sort of acidic tone, the syllables oozing out from between Its fangs like sludge.

Penny could still feel the dry mix coating Its tongue as It began to rummage through the Denbrough's shelves, looking agitatedly for a kettle of some sort. The darkness of the kitchen wasn't a bother anymore. The real bother, was how many _useless_ items were littered about the countertops and in the drawers, practically begging for It to break them. Penny grudgingly retracts Its claws and predatory teeth in favor of staying mobile, swinging Its head until finally, Its burning yellow eyes fixated on the cold metal kettle on the stovetop. After fiddling with the sink and popping the lid, Penny squinted at the array of dials the stove had to offer for a moment before reaching to turn one on to its highest setting. That done, It began to wait for the water to boil, leaning idly on the countertop.

 _Tonight._

It thought to itself, tipping backward with a smug grin.

 _Tonight, the Problem would be no more._

The kid clearly trusted It, and with trust, comes betrayal.

Penny had to refrain from digging Its claws into the wall when the kettle began to let out an ear-piercing shriek. Instincts kicked in, and the creature in the kitchen staggered backward at the shrill noise before It lunged forwards and pulled the kettle from the burner with a sharp burst of force.

The screaming stopped.

Its knees buckled and Penny fell forward, whatever It had that passed for a heart, beat crazily against Its ribs. Every little noise made It flinch and whirl around defensively, claws outstretched and ready to strike. Every one of Its muscles screamed at It to just lunge out and attack anything that even dared to get close, but of course, nothing did. Not one thing crept towards It in the silent house, not one human awakening from peaceful slumber to see the monstrosity standing in their home. It gurgled low in Its throat, forcing Itself to take a few deep breaths. So far out of Its element, It was feeling strange over the most nonsensical things. It could listen to the screams of a thousand children, but somehow, the kettle was the thing that made it want to cry out in rage. The kettle wasn't _right._ It didn't use kettles, nor stoves, or anything that It could find in a kitchen for that matter.

 _Tonight._

Penny reminded Itself, trying Its best to stay calm.

 _This whole thing ends tonight._

Penny's clawed hands began to rifle through the surrounding cabinets in search of mugs, the rough scraping noises It created made It want to growl. The cupboards were too noisy, too creaky and rough on their hinges. Once Its yellow eyes settled on the mugs, Penny used a little more force than was strictly necessary to slam them to the counter before upending the packages into them, coating the counter in sticky dust in the process. Finally, It dumped a hearty amount of the steaming hot water into the mugs and gave each a quick stir. Mixing the drinks was a chore, the noise the spoon made when it hit the bottom of the cup had It wanting to cry out in rage. With both the noisy actions, coupled with Its long limbs, Penny cursed the placement of, well- everything in the damned kitchen.

Stirring done, Penny balanced the mugs carefully, cupping them with clawed fingers that clacked and clattered against the ceramic surface. It watched the bubbling liquid with a sort of bored fascination, the clumps of powder sinking to the bottom, coloring the mixture with an odd looking brown, almost like sewer water. The sweet smell was the only thing distinguishing it from the soapy waste that flowed beneath Derry.

Penny managed to contain the primal hunger inside as It crept toward the bedroom of the _Problem_. It remained hyper-aware of every creak of the loose floorboards, every whisper of the wind on the house windows, the snore of the parents that rested, ignorant of the beast in their home, and the rustling bed sheets of the two children that tossed and turned in their rooms.

Penny wrinkled Its nose in distaste when the older sibling came to mind -the stuttering pain. Penny knew the kid was onto It from what It had seen of the boy, hidden in the blanket of reality, simply judging the way he had looked at the bicycle and red balloon after the _Problem_ had scampered off. Even as the pair had wheeled the contraption out of the house, Penny could _smell_ the unease seeping off of him. It had seen the taller boy- _Bill, that's his name-_ before, with his group of freaks. It had seen them sticking their noses in where they didn't belong. Oh, how It _loathed_ the way they poked around. Everything about the boy's little gang of friends angered It with such a petty sort of rage, it only served to make It angrier. The fact that the kids _existed_ was driving It up the wall. The fact that they were friends with the _Problem_ didn't help things either.

Penny thought those hateful thoughts as It crept down the hall to the child's door, grimacing when It saw the choice of decor. The turtles-painted on the woodwork-It decided, were hideous. Their green emerald shells seemed to torment Penny as It pressed hesitantly on the door, merging the claws and yellow eyes of Its current appearance into something less intimidating.

It didn't knock, It simply pushed the door open and strode in on careful feet, sidestepping a few mismatched t-shirts and socks before Its glossy blue eyes settled on the mess of blankets where Its victim slept. The forest green covers rose and fell with each breath the small boy took, shuffling every now and again in fitful sleep before settling once more.

Penny set his stage with the desk chair in the corner, quietly dragging it to sit opposite of the bed, and positioned himself perched on the backrest of the seat. With everything in order, It began to wait, trying to ignore the growing feeling of hunger that built inside of It. In the free time It had before the boy awoke to terror, Penny took in Its surroundings with a growing disdain. The child's scent clung to the floor as well as everything else inside of the room, practically _reeking_ of happiness and comfort. Everything was warm and fuzzy, what one would expect a child to feel when safely tucked in their bed. It made Its shoulders raise in defense to the off-putting _feeling_ of Its setting.

In short; the room was disgusting and It would rather hurry up and eat the child than have to spend another minute in the confines of the young boy's nest.

 _Soon_

For now, It just watched, relishing in the fact that the boy was completely unaware of the danger in his room. A single strip of light from the bright moon filtered through the window sheets and landed on the _Problem_ 's face, illuminating his peaceful expression for a few fleeting moments, before fading away from the still house breeze as it shifted the cotton curtains.

Penny tilted Its head as It noticed the growing heat that seeped from the mugs of cocoa, through Its cotton gloves. It glared down at the murky liquid skeptically before raising one cup to Its lips and took a long sip.

The drink was warm, but not scalding on Its tongue, an oddly sweet flavor clung to the insides of Its cheeks as Penny swished the liquid around before swallowing. While the drink wasn't exactly perfect, it would do. It took another loud slurp and watched the boy with still growing anticipation.

His breathing was less even now, and a soft groan escaped his lips, shoulders stiffening beneath the blankets as Its slurping began to rouse him from sleep. Penny raised the cup again as the boy shifted awake, squinting blearily in the low light and rubbing tiredly at his face. His half-lidded gaze surveyed the relative darkness of the room, sliding past Penny on the first go-around before drifting back up to Its perch on the chair. The once glazed-over eyes of the boy lit up, a wide grin winking into existence on his lips.

"Mr. Penny!" He began to shove the comforter off of his chest, not letting his bright eyes shift from those of the clown. "What are you doing here?"

It barely managed to suppress a snarl upon seeing the blue turtle emblazoned on the boy's yellow nightshirt taking another long pull from Its drink as a distraction. "I…" Penny paused and took a brief moment to think up a half-decent lie. The kid trusted It now, but something told Penny that he wouldn't if It confessed Its true intentions. "I needed to borrow your kettle, so I could enjoy the cocoa you brought me,"- _Problem-_ "Georgie." It corrected out loud.

Georgie watched him intently, shifting a little so he could better see the crouching figure. "All the hot water in the sewer is bubbly and soapy…" Penny trailed off with uncertainty, suddenly uncomfortable on the chair as Georgie continued to watch It with his genuinely curious expression. Too trusting, too _wrong_. Georgie swung his legs over the edge of his bed to reveal the plaid pyjama bottoms, a possible hand-me-down from his big brother, as they bunched on the floor around his bare feet. At the comparison of 'what could have been' Georgie made a silly face.

"Soapy cocoa? Ew!" Penny felt hot anger beginning to flare in Its chest and stifled a low growl. The child was so innocent, his voice so full of unabashed glee and love. It was enough to make the creature sick.

"Yes… can't have that." It gave up trying to control the hunger in Its gaze, already feeling Its eyes beginning to shift from an inviting blue to a sinister yellow. The laughter of victims past began to echo to those who could hear it, seeping through the cracks of reality as Its hunger grew more and more prominent. Georgie didn't seem to take any notice of the lullaby, which should have been a flag on how little effect the monster had on him.

Penny tried to seem casual as It leaned towards the small boy, gingerly holding the other mug in Its hand, outstretched in invitation "Would you like this one, Georgie?"

 _Take it._

The boy reached forward a smidgen, perking up slightly.

 _Kill him, kill him, kill him_.

"I made it just for you." Penny continued, hating the difficulty It was finding in keeping Its voice even.

"Oooh! Yes please!" Georgie unclenched his sheets and grinned up at the murderous being in his bedroom. It leaned closer still.

 _Kill him, KILL HIM, KILL HIM._

The boy cupped his hands and stretched out his arms to receive the offered drink. The mug beginning to shake in Its fingers. Unkempt drool dripped from Its jaws, the hunger inside of It practically screaming. Its face lit up with a yellow gleam.

 _KILLHIMKILLHIMKILL-_

Penny dropped the cup into Georgie's waiting hands, thoughts of the boy's flesh fading as the child took a small sip of the cocoa, seemingly oblivious to the way the creature was clutching the chair in a death grip. Its limbs shook as It replayed the moment in Its head over and over again.

That was Its chance.

That was Its _one chance._

Its eyes widened, pupils dilating into thin black slits. Its whole body began to shake and convulse, fingers clenching the chair as though It was going to float away into Its own failure. What had stopped It? Why hadn't It killed him? Why hadn't It struck? The child looked up, seemingly startled, as if finally noticing the monster before him.

"Penny?.." It lifted Its upper lip in a confused sort of snarl, body still quivering. "Are you okay?"

 _Why? Why? WHY? WHY?!_

"Maybe…" Its voice began to shake, becoming a garbled mess of syllables. "Not?" Georgie's eyebrows quirked upward.

"What's wr-" Before the boy could finish speaking, Penny's ears picked up the sound of tumblers unfurling, the bolts of the boys door as it was opened from the outside. It jolted upward, cover nearly blown, and warped from view, disappearing in the fraction of a second.

* * *

Georgie, however, didn't notice, because at that moment, the door to his bedroom swung open to reveal a rather disheveled and tired looking Bill. The taller boy's bed hair swung awkwardly over his right eye, his left hand rubbing idly at the other, looking more than a little bit annoyed from his interrupted sleep.

"Juh-Georgie?" He paused for a moment, the hand once at his eye dropping to his mouth to stifle a yawn. "Who are you talking to?" Georgie shot his older brother a grin, making sure not to drop the cup of cocoa.

"Oh!" His grin stretched wider. Finally, a chance to _properly_ introduce his friend to his brother. "Just Mr.-" He turned his head back to his friend, intent on just waving Bill towards the clown's direction, when he stopped short. Seeing that the chair was empty, with not a single scrap of evidence left that Penny had once been there, his heart sank in his chest. "Penny." He finished, his words a miserable mumble. Bill's expression dropped, his eyebrows sinking low.

"Could you wait to t-talk to your imaginary friend t-tomorrow?" He moaned exasperatedly, lips forming a thin line. Georgie tried to ignore the way he said 'imaginary' like it was shameful. "I cuh-can hear you all the way in muh-my room." He could tell Bill was fighting against his temper from the way his voice was heavy with sleep. Georgie turned his attention back to the empty chair, silently willing his friend to return, just so that he could see the look on Bill's face when he realized his _imaginary friend_ wasn't so _make believe_.

 _See! I told you!_ He would proclaim as his brother would stare in shock. _He's not imaginary!_ But alas, such a moment never came as he gazed at the proud green chair, his expression hopeful, betrayal lingering just below the surface.

He looked down at the mug clasped in his fingers and sighed. He could practically feel Bill's gaze sink to the drink in his hand, a small groan escaping his brother's lips "And isn't it k-kinda late for c-cocoa?" Bill continued, an unimpressed tone weaving between his words. As his brother remained silent to his question, Bill shook his head with defeat, deciding on going back to bed. "J-Just don't let M-Mom see you with that." Georgie could hear Bill beginning to shuffle backward on sock-clad feet "N-Night." Bill mumbled as he turned back down the hall, closing the door behind him with a soft 'click.'

Georgie stayed focused on the hot drink, shuffling his legs restlessly.

"He's _not_ imaginary." He mumbled, not willing to admit defeat just yet. The hot cocoa didn't respond to his bickering. Somehow, it felt like it was mocking him.

* * *

It had been so close. It had been _so close_ to making mincemeat of the kid. Closer than close, as a matter of fact. It had been _right there_. It had been _inches_ from snapping the boy up, so why? Why? _Why,_ hadn't It? It kicked at a pile of stray garbage and snarled, revealing every last crooked tooth. Perhaps it was because the child wasn't afraid? Perhaps because the boy thought they were _friends?_ It shook Its head in rebuttal. Penny wasn't the kid's _friend._ Penny was never _going_ to be his friend. Why was that so hard for the child to understand?

With hands clenched into tight fists, It let out another guttering wail.

This was Bill's fault, the stuttering _freak_ had walked in at precisely the wrong moment. Yes, that was it. He was the flaw in the plan, the kink in the chain, the- the- It shook Its head and growled in exasperation. That wasn't it. As much as It wished that was true, Bill wasn't in the wrong.

Bill hadn't made Georgie hot chocolate. Bill hadn't given it to the boy without consequence. Bill hadn't tried to return a small favor in disguise of trying to eat the _Problem_. But It had. It had done all of those things and more. It, in fact, had been incredibly close to the boy on more than one occasion, and It had bitten him… how many times?

Oh yeah.

Not. Once. In fact, the more that It thought and paced angrily, the more It was certain of one fact. This couldn't continue. It laughed, twisting in on Itself and falling to the grimy floor of the tunnel. Its eyes were the only thing visible in the inky blackness, and they shone with an anger that was so primal and petty all at once, It caused every living thing in Derry to tremble. It wasn't going to make another mistake. Oh no, not one.

It began to climb upward through the tunnels, fingers scrabbling for a handhold as It skittered upward toward the light filtering through the storm drain, like a spider creeping up its web. Water dribbled past It as It forced itself out of the small opening, the frills of Its costume folding toward It uncomfortably as It clambered out. Its eyes flashed with anger, yellow irises lighting up Its face. It stomped back in the direction of the Denbrough house, not knowing exactly what It would do yet, just knowing that whatever It did, It was going to make somebody's night a living hell. If Penny couldn't get Georgie afraid of It, It could certainly get Bill to scream.

* * *

Bill tried his best to keep his head clear as he laid awake in bed, eyes trained on the ceiling, breaths uneven and oddly spaced out. The problem, of course, with trying not to think of anything was that he was focused so hard on not thinking of anything, that it was all he could think about or rather, not think about. And so was his plight as he lay in bed, the noises of the house drilling into his skull as he lay with his eyes half-focused, waiting for sleep to pull him under. His last lingering thought before he succumbed to the hazy dreams playing behind his eyes was as follows.

 _The floorboards sound like somebody's sneaking around._

But Bill was too tired to care. In his half-asleep state, he could have sworn that he saw the outline of a figure at the foot of his bed, a pair of bright yellow eyes gleaming at him from Its misshapen head. Bill's brain tells him to just sleep and instead of panicking at the imaginary figure, he gave one last shuddering yawn and began to drift off into the realm of unconsciousness.

Only, something wasn't right.

The dream felt strange right off the bat. The midnight rain pummeled him and plastered his hair to his head, soaking his pyjamas with their icy torrents, feeling more like frozen needles than drops of water. His bare feet splashed on the cracked concrete, riddled with puddles. His toes going numb and turning a shocking blue color against the cold and raw elements. His legs carried him forward without his consent, a dream action he had no control over. He didn't fight it. Instead, he obliged, striding forward with purpose, letting the scene play out as his imagination intended. What else could one do in a dream?

A distant rumbling began to sound, not from the overhead thunderclouds, but from down the street. Despite the odd happenstance, Bill shoved it into the far corner of his mind along with the prickling unease that sparked in his gut. The rain continued to drench him as he trudged through the downpour, the water falling over his eyes and making it near impossible to see as he blinked back the cold. As the rainwater cascaded in thick rivers down his back, it seeped into his bones and he began to tremble. Not one speck of light fell through the swollen clouds, and the streetlamps were dim, adding to his unease. Bill pulled his gaze away from clouds and looked to the surrounding buildings, trying to take his mind off of just how off everything seemed so completely and utterly wrong.

He crossed his arms over his chest and hunched his shoulders, trying to preserve what little heat he had left. He noticed just how empty the houses around him appeared. They seemed relatively normal on the outside, however, not a single light was on inside. Perhaps no one was awake? The cold windows, fogged with perspiration from the chill, glared him down with fractal glass for eyes. Bill shuddered at the haunting expressions but pressed onwards without a choice.

A crash suddenly rang through the streets, too sharp to be thunder but too loud to be nothing. It had caused Bill to jump, his heartbeat; accelerate, and he tried to pinpoint the source of the noise from ahead. However, because of the thick torrent of rain, it was as if he was trying to look through a curtain. Every one of his muscles tensed in preparation to flee but try as he might in vain, he couldn't _stop walking._ He feet slipped and he stumbled, ankles bending at odd angles and knees throbbing as he tried to force his legs to cooperate. He felt like a puppet on a string as he continued, now against his will, towards what was steadily growing more likely to be his doom.

More bangs and clatters railed on his ears, the faint hum of rain hitting the sidewalk growing into the deafening roar of a wild animal. Bill struggled to keep composure as the once familiar neighborhood houses around him began to melt into something of an abandoned culdesac. Colors started mixing, dripping from porches and facings, flowing into the storm drains like water down a sink. Pristine paint began to peel, doors began to hang loosely off their rusted hinges, and windows began to shatter in their frames. Yard work was uprooted but cold gusts of wind, trees began to sink in the mud. Still, he was forced to walk on, even as the shudders that wracked his body began to be from more than just the cold.

That's when Bill heard something that snatched his heart from his chest, leaving him feeling cold and empty. A scream pierced the air; shrill, young, and scared. He exhaled, feeling another quake shoot through his bones, breath clouding from his chapped lips. Realization dawned; he knew that scream. He had heard it from outside his bedroom window, not to be confused with the screeching of bike tires that followed. He heard it at the Barrens when they went exploring. He heard it in the throes of laughter from a game of pretend that took a turn for the best.

 _Georgie_.

Bill began to run, his legs now under his command again and propelling him forward.

"JUH-JUH-" He took a gulping breath of air. "JUH-" He bit down on his tongue, trying desperately to coax the word out of his throat, tripping over syllables like shoelaces. His fingers formed fists that quivered with anxiety, but still, Bill ran. The cold began to grow hot from the inside out, heat in his throat as painful as burning coal as he gasps for air. The rain poured harder still, at this rate he was going to drown in the downpour. Yet, the scream sounded once more, louder and continued. It was bloody and laced with a kind of desperation that Bill had never once heard before and never wanted to hear again.

"GEORGIE!" He was finally fit to howl, frantically scanning through the rain for any signs of his younger brother.

Bill began to wheeze, lungs and muscles aching from running against the- now knee-deep- current. Bill kept going, sloshing through the ice water, just _knowing_ that _something_ had gotten his little brother. It was something monstrous, something that had climbed straight out of his worst nightmares. A choked sob worked out of his throat as he pressed on, assuming the worst; that he wasn't moving fast enough. The rain grew louder.

"HELP ME!" And louder.

"GEORGIE!" And _louder_.

Until the only thing Bill could hear was his own heart, jackhammering in his ears. His stomach did flips. His blood tried to flow through his frozen limbs, certainly now frostbitten from the cold.

Bills own screaming pleas were devoured greedily by the storm. "PLEASE, PLEASE PL-" He could no longer hear his brother. He could no longer tell if he was getting closer or farther away. The water began to turn heavy, sticky-like molasses, and nearly impossible to tread. One thought surfaced in Bill's mind. He _failed_. He _couldn't_ do it. He _couldn't_ save his brother.

Then, it all went quiet. The roar dissipated to a soft murmur, a soft sigh, and then faded altogether. Stuck in the frozen water, kicking and turning in a pathetic attempt to just _MOVE_ , Bill was forced to watch in trepidation as the rain touched the concrete roads without a sound, like the world had been put on mute. Even his own breathing, his own grunts and choked coughs were silent as they left his throat.

Suddenly, a bone-breaking laughter echoed through the silence; an inhuman sound that shuddered though Bill like an earthquake. His stomach churned, nauseated as the off-putting stench of sewage wafted under his nose. The feeling grew worse as an unmanned voice ahead spoke in garbled english.

"Did you think you could save him?" The screaming returned, and with the rain inaudible, it was amplified; raw and painful.

"Did you really think he would be _safe_?" Bill shook his head, no longer able to do anything, not even feel his legs.

"THIS IS YOUR FAULT, BILL." _It's all his fault._

"BILLY!" There was a sickening crack, and with his terror clouding his mind, Bill associated it to the time when he and Georgie had accidentally broken a window, after their mom had told them not to play ball inside. It was the sound of Georgie's neck being broken. Bill closed his eyes and shook his head as a savage tearing noise followed, forcing him to imagine the lions on some nature documentary eating their prey. That's-That's what It was doing, he realized. It was eating Georgie.

 _No. No. No. NO!_

Bill lifted his hands to his ears, trying to block out the disgusting squelches and slurps of his little brother's carcass being devoured by a great monster, but the image stuck; a long-limbed demon crouched above his brother's body with teeth like razor blades and three grinning mouths.

The scent of copper began to mix with sewage, overbearing and forced a gag from his mouth. Bill's eyes stayed shut, his ears remained closed but he could still hear It, unable to tell if It was real or just his imagination.

"YOU LET HIM DIE."

"NO!"

Something like a bear trap snapped over one of Bill's ankles, the pain forcing his eyes open and a shriek from his throat. Through the grey water, he saw glowing yellow eyes, a claw wrapped around his ankle with nails embedding in his skin and an outstretched mouth, full of teeth. It was the monster of his nightmare and It was hungry.

"GEORGIE!" Bill screeched once more as he fought against the force attempting to pull him under. He shook head and tried to push away but it was no use.

Now, he thought in his terror, he was the one calling for help.

"GEORGIE!"

That was the last word that escaped his lips before he was pulled under, mouth filling with both water and air as he jerked between dream and reality, fighting hard to just _wake up._

 _WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKE-_

He jolted awake and in his bed, panting in the aftershock of a nightmare too real to just be a dream. Layered in a cold and sticky sweat, he nearly sobbed in relief, sitting up and ignoring the tremble of his hands as he wiped both crust and tears out of his eyes.

A sharp tug over one of his ankles caused his breathing to stall, his heart to skip a beat and his throat to croak in a failed attempt at a scream. He flailed, readying himself to strike as he ripped his foot out of Its hold, too much force causing a cramp seize through the muscles that had him clenching his teeth against the pain. Had not been for the moonlight gazing through his window blinds in those fleeting moments, Bill would have made a mistake.

Georgie stood at the end of his bed, hand taken back from where it had gently pulled at his older brothers foot in an attempt to wake him from his bad dream. Bill looked him over, mouth open and closing, lips forming a stutter that doesn't sound. It was bad, Georgie could tell, by how matted his hair was, how pale he was, how Bill didn't look like he was even really awake.

"Billy?" He asked, his voice hesitant. "Are you o-" A light squeak of sound escaped his lips as his older brother suddenly cradled him into his arms, on his knees at the end of his bed, nearly forcing Georgie into his lap. Bill rests his chin atop his brothers head, keeping him close and nearly sobbing.

"I'm fuh-fuh-fine." He managed to get out.

He wasn't.

Tears stung his eyes even as he tried to force them away. Georgie didn't try to squirm out of his grasp, he just sighed and relaxed into his brother's arms, patting his clammy back with a kind of certainty only an understanding sibling can hold.

"You were shouting." He mumbled into Bill's ear. "I thought you were calling me." Bill felt his breath hitch in his throat.

"Duh-Did I wake yuh-you up?" He asked, swallowing the stone in his throat and shifting a bit as Georgie tried to get comfortable, crawling onto the bed and letting his brother move to better throw an arm over his shoulder.

"Yeah." Georgie admitted. Bill pulled him closer, shivers still running through him. He tried to pretend that Georgie couldn't feel them. "You were shaking an' screamin' in bed. Callin' my name, all scared." Bill bit his lip, shaking his head and clearing his throat once more to explain away his sudden clingy nature.

"I duh-do-don-" He stopped to take a mouthful of air.

 _Try to calm down, it's just a dream_.

The stutter was never this bad when talking to Georgie. Understably, the nightmare had made the stutter worse, but it was more than infuriating to Bill, stalling so bad while talking to the one person he was most relaxed around. His brother seemed to sense his growing agitation at himself and again, patted him on the back. Another breath, in and out.

"I don't ruh-remember. I thu-think I had a buh-buh-buh-" He clenched and unclenched his jaw before trying again. "Bad dream."

 _There. Done._

"It must have been." Georgie agreed. "You're all sweaty." Bill let out a garbled laugh at the easy and innocent statement, separating himself from his brother and wiping his nose.

"Suh-sorry." Georgie shrugged.

"S'okay." He grumbled. "Just warn me next time." Bill smiled, nudging his brother carefully with a bump, shoulder to shoulder.

"I wuh-will." He agreed. This would be written down as one of their moments that- Had everything happened the way It wanted it to- wouldn't ever have come to be. Their moment of beating the monster in a world full of darkness, letting the light shine through. Bill didn't know how long they stayed like that. He didn't care. Time passed in a blurry haze, and at some point, they fell back asleep, still wrapped in each other's arms.


	5. Chapter 5

**"SWIGGITY SWEEDBACK, LEAVE ME SOME FEEDBACK!" - da-chubby-burb. Okay, you guys BLOW ME AWAY with your responses and predictions every chapter. Seriously, I love you all. I want to give a HUGE Shout out to my betas, SkyHighDisco-New, Navy-Follower, and Lawless-Beezlebub. These three are freaking amazing human beings and I love them all. You all deserve hot cocoa. As per usual, review if you liked it, favorite if you loved it. Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Georgie awoke in darkness. He frowned, squirmed, and tried to move his oddly unresponsive body out from under whatever pinned him in place, heartbeat quickening as he did so. The darkness engulfing him didn't cease to be, but something atop him shifted, just enough to pin him closer to- well- what he was on top of, he didn't know. All he knew was that it was very hot, and very dark, and he wanted to get out from under it, thank you very much. His sleep-glazed eyes began to focus on what looked to be a mess of white sheets, which caused him to stop scrambling to get free.

They weren't his sheets, but they seemed familiar.

He frowned in the dark and slowly reached one hand out in front of him, pawing at the sheets, still incredibly aware of the weight on his back. It was hot, and it shifted around slightly, letting out small breaths of air before settling back down atop him. It was only when a soft snore resonated from above him that he figured it out. He huffed out an irritated breath and put a bit more effort into squirming, his legs tangling in the bedsheets.

"Billy! You're squishin' me!" He squawked, giving the weight atop him a shove. The snores above him intensified and he groaned exasperatedly. "Bill," he whined, drawing out the name to last a small eternity. "Get off!" The snoring stopped and something atop him shifted.

A soft, somewhat irritated moan rang in his ears, a yawn following. "Juh-" Bill audibly swallowed before trying again, "Juh-Juh…" Georgie glared at the blankets and pushed at Bill's chest, not in the mood to wait for his brother's tongue to start working.

"Yes, it's me. Now get off!" Bill groaned softly, but obliged, Georgie wiggling out from under his arms and taking a gulping breath of air, the cold morning air causing him to cross his arms against his chest. Bill laughed softly behind him and he whirled around to stick out his tongue, pushing at the arm that was still wrapped around his shoulder. "You're still sweaty." He observed as his brother retracted his arm and rubbed at his tired eyes, the brilliant blue they normally carried muted from sleep, looking almost glassy. Georgie watched his brother stand, fiddling idly with the bottom of his cream nightshirt.

"Suh-Sorry," he muttered, yawning once more into his hand. Georgie tugged his legs from the blankets and sat upright on the bed, tilting his head to the side slightly like a curious dog.

"Feelin' any better?" Bill visibly stiffened, his cheeks draining of color.

"Fine." He replied, a soft smile gracing his lips. Georgie frowned. He could always tell when his brother was lying, as much as Bill liked to pretend he didn't. There were two key things he had become aware of in his seven years of living. One, was that his stutter would intensify so much, he could hardly speak, even though he had been fine moments before. The other dead giveaway was when he spoke in single, harsh syllables that didn't tie his tongue into knots, tugging them from his throat like they were stuck within it.

"Are you sure?" He asked, leaning forward, ignoring the way that Bill flinched back. "Because you don't look fine." Bill's smile faded into something that looked more like a grimace and he rubbed at his face with the heel of his hand.

"I'm shu-sure," he averted his eyes, but Georgie had seen the lie outright. After all, he knew Bill didn't scare easily, but he had been shaking the night before. Surely that would stick with him into the morning? Still, Georgie bit his lip against the remark on his tongue, simply nodding and rising from the mess of blankets, stretching his arms high above his head with a heavy exhale.

"'M'kay," he mumbled, sidestepping Bill and shooting him a sleepy grin before pushing open the door and stepping out into the hallway, deciding to brush his teeth before getting on with his morning. He was completely unaware of the way Bill watched him walk away, looking borderline frightened before shutting and latching the door to his room, retreating back behind the closed door.

* * *

Bill put his head into his hands the second Georgie was out of sight and let out a long, shuddering sigh, flopping backward onto his bed and trying to force images of last night's dream out of his head. It wasn't working. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make them leave, images of demons readying themselves to spring, the scent of blood, the feeling of pure terror as something- something hideous and otherworldly and wrong latched itself around his ankle, and the sound of his own deranged screams and wails before he had awoken in a cold sweat.

He changed out of his pyjamas in silence save for his thoughts, desperately wishing it wasn't so quiet. Every creak from the floorboards set him off, thinking that the beast of his nightmare was coming for him, which was ridiculous. Even though he scolded himself for thinking such things, he couldn't block out the noises of Georgie's desperate screaming that his brain seemed content to repeat in an endless loop, growing steadily louder as he tugged his green t-shirt over his head and buttoned his jeans.

He would never admit that he had woken up a few more times that night on the verge of tears, his chest aching like his heart had fractured within it and his lungs screaming for air, a pair of hideous, gleaming yellow eyes etched into his mind. He made sure to tug the sleeping mass of Georgie just a little closer every time, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him closer to his side. Then, he would resume his staring competition with his ceiling until his eyelids were too heavy for him to keep open and he drifted off into a tormented sort of sleep that had him awake and gasping for breath mere minutes after, and so the cycle would continue.

He was reminded of that as he flopped backward onto his still-warm bed, letting his left hand hang loosely over the edge, knuckles grazing the floor. It was stupid to get so worked up over a dream. He was fourteen, not four, but somehow, that particular nightmare had deemed itself as different from the rest. He took a heaving breath and rolled over, shoving his fingers through his hair once in a futile attempt to get it to hang straight. Most nightmares, he had discovered, weren't forgotten as easily as dreams, but still faded and lost some of their horrific quality by morning. But, this one wasn't a normal nightmare, of that much, he was certain. The details were so crisp, so clear and unwavering in his mind that he knew this dream wasn't going to leave him alone, even in his waking hours.

He rose from the bed with a small sigh, stretching once before plodding out of the room, stealing down the hall and cautiously peering into the kitchen. It didn't look like either of his parents were up yet, which was always a plus. Quickly, knowing that he didn't have much time until Georgie flew in, he made for the phone and quietly dialed, hoping against all odds that Ben was up.

He tangled his fingers in the white cord and let his head fall to the cold wall as the first ring echoed in his ears. And the second. Ben picked up on the third warbling ring and took a breath. Bill spoke before Ben could gather his words.

"I nuh-need to talk to you," he mumbled, fighting not to let his voice crack.

"Bill, are you-"

"I'm fuh-fine, Ben," he let the lie slip from his lips like he had the night before, guilt gnawing at his gut. "I juh-ju-just need to talk."

There was a slight shuffling on the other end of the line, which Bill presumed to be Ben grabbing a chair before he resumed speaking. "Right, okay. Talk." Bill scrubbed a hand over his face.

"No, luh-like, in puh-puh-" he took a shuddering breath through his nose, "person." He could practically hear the pitying look Ben was wearing through the static and fought to keep himself from letting it get to him.

"Um, today?" Bill nodded vigorously before realizing Ben couldn't see it. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the phone tightly to his ear.

"Yes, puh-please." He managed, silently cursing the fact that his voice wavered.

"You okay?" It was the way that Ben sounded so genuinely concerned that made Bill bite his lip, desperate to keep composure.

"Sort of." He felt a small surge of pride at the lack of a stutter in those two words and felt his mood lift. "I juh-just wanted to tuh-tuh-"

 _Damn it._

He trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose and gritting his teeth. "Talk to you." He felt like a broken record as those words left his lips.

"Oh." He could sense the hesitance in Ben's words and stayed silent, knowing that, although he wanted Bill to speak, he wasn't going to wait very long before continuing. "Actually, I was just about to call you. Mike, Richie, and I were going to check out the Neibolt house. Mike's dad's doing some research on historical buildings and figured that we'd want to help out…" He could practically hear Ben shrug.

"Oh, th-that's fuh-fine, I guess," Bill managed, shuffling awkwardly and twining his fingers with the cord. Ben took a deep breath and Bill could hear it through the line, mingling with the static.

"I was going to invite you along..." Bill smiled in spite of the situation, feeling the knot in his gut loosen considerably. "But, if you don't want to, I totally get it-"

"I'll cuh-come," he interrupted. "That suh-sounds…" He searched for the right word for a moment. He settled with "different," and Ben half-laughed.

"Good. Richie didn't want to come until he heard there would be ice-cream." Bill snorted.

"Suh-sounds like Tuh-Trashmouth," he agreed. The two boys stayed in silence for a moment, before Ben broke it by clearing his throat.

"Why did you call me?"

Bill blinked. "What do you muh-mean?" Ben sighed.

"Just, I haven't known you that long. I'm not complaining, but I thought you would have called somebody else if you wanted to talk…" Ben's voice sounded genuinely concerned, but also touched, that he was the one Bill would call.

"Nah," Bill leaned against the wall, knowing that it was his turn to speak. "You're the buh-best listener," he explained, "Richie wuh-would make a joke and tuh-try to muh-make me smile. Muh-Mike would try to fix th-things." He mentally began to do an inventory of his friends, counting them off on his fingers. "Bev's duh-dad would kick her ass if I cuh-called. Stan would th-think I was overreacting. And Eddie wuh-would fuh-freak out. I still want tuh-to tell them, but yuh-you're the best at juh-just listening." It felt like something heavy lifted off of his chest when he said those words, as though just admitting that he wanted to talk would be enough to make the horrors he had faced the night before a little less frightening.

Ben laughed. "Thanks, Big Bill."

Bill nodded. "Don't muh-mention it. Trust me, yuh-you're great." Once again, they lapsed into silence, but it was far more comfortable than the last time.

"Meet you there around noon?"

"Suh-sounds good."

"Cool!" The dial tone sounded almost hollow in his ears and he let it ring for a moment before hanging the phone back on the wall, taking care not to tangle the cord before latching the white device into place.

"What're you doing?" Bill nearly leapt out of his skin at the sudden presence of a new voice, turning to shoot a glare at his younger brother.

"You sh-shouldn't be eaves-duh-dropping," he scolded. Georgie had the decency to look sheepish. His eyes fell to the ground.

"Sorry, Billy," he mumbled to his socks, looking back at Bill after a few moments. "But I didn't hear much, promise!" Bill rolled his eyes fondly, still glad to be hearing his brother's voice, even if the dream had long since passed.

"I wuh-was just tuh-talking to Ben," he explained, running his fingers through his fair a couple times more, silently wishing for a comb. "He in-invited me to go on some kuh-kind of huh-historic hunt at the Nuh-Neibolt house." Georgie nodded, pulling one chair from the table and sliding into it, one hand reaching for the muffins on the table.

"Are you gonna go?" He inquired around a mouthful of muffin, crumbs spilling down the front of his yellow shirt. Bill shrugged amiably.

"Probably." He admitted, biting back the: Yes! That jumped onto his tongue in hopes that Georgie wouldn't ask to tag along. He, however, knew that his efforts would prove futile the second the words left his mouth. Georgie's eyes lit up.

"Can I come? Please?" Bill wanted so badly to say no, but once he looked into his brother's wide eyes, he knew he was a goner.

"Well…" he started, averting his eyes and snatching a muffin. "I duh-don't know if I wuh-want you there," he confessed. Georgie let out a high pitched whine and rocked back and forth on his chair.

"Pleeeaase?" He begged. Bill slumped into a chair across from him and took a bite out of the chocolate-chip muffin, making sure to chew slowly.

"I dunno, are you shu-shure you cuh-can handle it?" He asked after swallowing, leaning forward slightly as he took another bite. "It is the Nuh-Neibolt Street house, yuh-you know the one."

Georgie huffed out an irritated breath. "Yeah, I know. It's not that scary."

Bill raised his eyebrows skeptically. "It sc-scared Richie pretty buh-badly the other day…" he continued. Georgie squared his shoulders, brushing crumbs from his lap.

"I can handle it," he insisted, "I promise!" Bill hummed slightly in thought, which caused Georgie to squirm in place. "Billy!" Bill held up one finger and swallowed.

"Okay," he agreed, secretly loving the way Georgie's face shone with a pure, childlike sort of glee.

"Really?"

Bill couldn't help the answer that slipped past his lips. "No." Georgie's face fell and he had just opened his mouth to protest when Bill let out a laugh. "Just kuh-kidding." Georgie glared at him and pointed his muffin at his older brother accusingly.

"That was mean!"

Bill grinned. "I wuh-was kidding!" He managed to say before a muffin wrapper hit him in the face, leaving a trail of crumbs down his shirt. Bill shook his head and looked over to where his younger brother sat with a pleased expression on his face. A soft laugh escaped Bill and he pushed his chair back and stood, balling up his own wrapper and pulling his arm back like he was going to make a game-winning pitch. Georgie squealed and shoved his chair aside, ducking behind the table as Bill let the wrapper fly. It hit the cupboard behind his target with a dull thud, prompting said target to giggle and peer over the edge of the table.

"You missed!" He sang in a mocking voice, sticking out his tongue at Bill. That, of course, was when Bill whipped out the wrapper that Georgie had pummeled him with and hurled it at his brother. It was a beautiful throw. Georgie squeaked as it hit him squarely in the face. A small surge of pride flared in his chest and a smug grin found his lips as Georgie shot him a scowl.

"That one duh-didn't miss." Bill remarked, leaning back cockily on his chair, watching as Georgie tossed the wrappers into the garbage bin.

"Yeah, but it was my wrapper."

Bill rolled his eyes. "So?" Georgie opened his mouth to argue further, but then he seemed to realize how petty he was being and giggled. Bill soon joined him, and even though the horrors of last night didn't fade from behind his eyes, he couldn't help but feel just a little bit better.

* * *

"Did you guh-get the camera fuh-from Dad?" It had been nearly an hour, and Bill was beginning to grow restless from waiting. His knees jittered as he sat on the front porch, bike at the ready mere feet away from him. The door behind him swung open and he turned to look as Georgie pranced toward him.

"Yep!" His brother proclaimed, stopping only to lace his yellow sneakers. The device in question swung loosely around his neck, the boy wearing it struggling to adjust the strap the second he stood. Bill laughed softly and moved to his side.

"Nuh-need some help with that?" He asked, gesturing to the strap. His brother nodded and grinned widely as Bill worked the weatherbeaten strip of leather, taking a moment to loosen it before pulling it tight, letting it hang at Georgie's chest rather than at his ankles. He gave the strap one final yank. "That shu-should do it." He took a step back to admire his handiwork.

"Thanks Billy!" Georgie chirped, practically bouncing down the front steps to his bike, camera swaying along with his movements. "How much longer until they get here?" Bill sank back down to the loose boards and drummed on his knees.

"Dunno. Th-they just said they'd-" A bicycle bell rang in the distance, effectively cutting him off and answering Georgie's question. Bill squinted down the street in the direction of the noise, putting one hand on his forehead to shield his eyes as he stood, Georgie bounding ahead of him to get to his bike, camera swinging wildly. "Pick us up." He finished with a wide smile, moving to leap astride Silver.

"Hi-ho, Big Bill!" Richie's voice rang through the street in what he thought passed for a British accent, punctuated with a hoot from Mike and a laugh from Ben. Bill rolled his eyes, standing up on Silver's pedals and beginning to pump his legs, Georgie already far ahead of him. "Stopping day!" The three on bikes were closer now, close enough to see the eye-rolls that were shared at Richie's attempts to make them laugh.

"You do know that voice is awful, right?" Mike pointed out. Richie gasped.

"You fockin' wot, mate?"

"Beep beep, Richie." Ben scolded, jutting out his chin in the direction of Georgie and Bill, who were now mere feet away, Bill beginning to pedal in slow, lazy circles around the group. Georgie simply stopped, already scuffed sneakers hitting the ground. Richie pushed up his glasses, having the decency to sound sheepish.

"Hey, Georgie." Georgie puffed up his chest, wheeling his bike a little faster and gliding on the street, steadily shooting ahead of the group. Mike laughed at his enthusiasm.

"What's he so worked up about?"

Bill shrugged and the four of them fell in sync, Georgie shooting to the end of the street and looping back a couple of times. "He's juh-just excited that Duh-Dad let him use the camera," he explained, "and he luh-loves you guys."

"Rightly so, although…" Richie waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "my heart does belong to Mrs. K." Bill snorted, trying not to let his amusement show, knowing that it would only set the trashmouth off. Luckily for him, Richie didn't notice and the group lapsed into silence, save for the steady grinding of their chains and the sound of tires on the concrete. Bill was glad for the quiet company and focused his gaze on the street below him, not trusting himself to look up at the houses without feeling that same dread from last night creeping back into his heart.

So instead, he busied himself by looking at the autumn leaves, still speckled with green amongst the orange, red, and golden yellow hues, crunching under the spinning tires that carried him down the familiar street.

"YOU'RE SO SLOW!" Georgie hooted, his voice startling Bill as it was so close and so loud, practically right in his ear. The handlebars swung and Bill had to take a sharp breath in through his nose as he struggled to keep the bike steady for a moment.

"We'll cuh-catch up, Georgie," Bill managed with a watery smile. He pretended not to notice the uneasy looks that were shared behind his back as Georgie looped around the group and shot back up the street.

"You okay?" It was Mike who spoke up, effortlessly wheeling his bike so it was right next to Bill's beast of a ride. Bill shook his head.

"Not ruh-really," he admitted, "I'll ex-puh-plain later."

Mike nodded. "Fair enough." A wide grin broke out across his face. "After all, this is going to be fun!" Richie scoffed.

"What are we even doing at the house anyway? Real estate? Starting up a sex dungeon?" Mike shook his head, ignoring the gross remark.

"No, my dad's doing a project on the old parts of Derry, like really old. He wanted to check Neibolt off of the list." He gestured to the camera hanging around his neck. "We take some pictures, and then we're done. Just in and out." He addressed the latter part mostly at Richie, whose frown had been deepening through Mike's explanation.

"And there's ice-cream, right?" He pressed.

Mike laughed. "Of course, idiot."

Richie shuddered. "Jeez man, you drive a hard bargain." His tone turned serious, and Bill could see that even though he was hiding it with a joke, he was genuinely unnerved. "That place is creepy as fuck."

"You're already on the way there." Ben pointed out, which silenced the trashmouth for a moment, but once Bill saw the lopsided smirk creeping onto his freckled face, he knew they were in for a long ride.

"But, I could just sit outside," Richie wheedled. "I bet Georgie's not going inside." All eyes turned to Bill, Richie's silently pleading with him to agree from behind his thick coke-bottle glasses. Bill shook his head.

"Nah, he's cuh-coming in. He suh-says he can handle it." Mike let out a triumphant "Ha!" and Richie groaned. Bill could tell that although he despised the house, he wasn't going to play lookout. His assumption was confirmed with the next words that escaped the Trashmouth's throat.

"Okay, fine," he said grudgingly, with a slight scowl, "I'll go in."

"That's the spirit!" Ben enthused.

"But-" Richie visibly shuddered. "If I see one fuckin' clown in there, I'm noping the _hell_ out."

"Cuh-come on, Rich. None of th-them are real," Bill prompted. Richie sighed heavily and pushed up his glasses, putting on a bit more speed.

"Fine. But if there's one real clown, I'm leaving you in the freakin' dust."

Mike shrugged, keeping pace with him as he began to pull ahead. "That's a chance I'm willing to take." There was silence for a few moments more, until Georgie came rocketing back down the street, swerving to avoid the four.

"Come oonnnnnnn!" He moaned as he looped back around them, his feet a nothing more than a yellow blur on the pedals. "You guys are so slow!"

"Slow?" Mike asked, to which the younger boy nodded. He then turned to Richie, and Bill watched his eyes light up with a mischievous gleam. "Hey, Rich, are we slow?" Bill held back with Ben, watching as the other two slowly began to accelerate.

"Why, my good sir!" Richie gasped in the voice of the British guy, causing Georgie to giggle. "I don't believe that rubbish!" Georgie suddenly seemed to notice the way they were gaining on him and tried to accelerate forward, letting out a squeal of surprise when both Richie and Mike shot past him, grinning across the street at each other. Bill watched with a grin until they disappeared around a corner. Fear fell upon him like a lead weight.

 _I can't see him._

 _I can't see him, and what if that- that thing gets him and he screams out my name, but I can't get to him because he's dead and that thing, that fucking thing with the yellow eyes and sharp teeth will get him all because of me and-_

"Bill?" Bill took a heaving breath through his nose and turned to face Ben, the round boy's bike directly across from Silver's hulking frame. "Why'd you call?" He asked softly. Bill set his jaw and pedaled a little harder.

"It's stuh-stupid," he growled, suddenly feeling apprehensive. "It sh-shouldn't have buh-buh-bugged me so much."

"That's fine."

Bill chose his next words carefully. "It was huh-horrible, Ben," he began softly, noting how the other boy's gaze softened, "if you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?"

"O-kay?" Ben sounded unsure, but Bill knew that he needed to tell someone. Anyone. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

"It was like a duh-dream. Buh-But not, not really." He kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead as they rounded the corner, his eyes latching onto the fleeting figures of his brother and his friends, smiling as Richie almost toppled from his bike as he attempted to stand on the seat, hawaiian shirt streaming out behind him like a banner. He could see Ben frown out of his peripheral vision and bit his tongue before elaborating, "it was tuh-too real. I wuh-was on this st-street." He could see it behind his eyes and set his shoulders, trying to stifle the sudden surge of emotions in his chest. "An-and it was wrong. It suh-seemed almost normal, but it wuh-was so cuh-cold." He could feel his stutter beginning to intensify behind his closed lips and swallowed hard, as if that would keep it at bay. "It wuh-was raining, too. But cuh-cold rain, like huh-huh-huh-" He closed his eyes, keeping his hands firmly clasped around SIlver's handlebars, just feeling the street beneath him.

Took a breath.

 _What was it like, Bill?_

 _What did you see?_

"Hail. It was huh-hailing, but with ruh-rain, and it hurt." He was ahead of Ben now, but not by much, the other boy's shadow still overlapping his own. "And it was eh-empty too, th-there was nuh-nuh-nobody there." A shudder ripped through him. "But I had tuh-to walk. You nuh-know how in duh-dreams how you cuh-can't always cuh-control what you duh-do?" Ben nodded.

"Yeah."

Bill began to pedal faster.

"It was luh-like that. I huh-had to keep walking."

Ben nodded thoughtfully, taking a moment to come up alongside Bill. "Okay, I get it."

Bill laughed humorlessly. "Cuh-course you do." There was silence for a few moments more as Bill gathered his thoughts, snatches of the dream shooting through his head at a million miles per hour. "And th-then, the houses wuh-wuh-were falling apart, like th-they weren't even th-there to begin with. All old and duh-decayed." Bill tried not to begin shaking as twisted screams echoed in his head. "Th-th-the screaming came nuh-huh-huh-" He inhaled sharply through his nose and let it out through his teeth. "Next." Ben was beginning to look more and more concerned with each stuttered syllable.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Bill shook his head no, but he didn't wait for Ben to offer him comfort.

"It was Juh-Juh-Georgie." His closed fists began to tremble against Silver's handle grips. "He wuh-was screaming, but it wuh-wasn't like he was puh-playing. Huh-he was screaming because, buh-buh-because-" Bill swallowed hard. "He wuh-was hurt and sc-scared and al-al-alone, because I wuh-wasn't there." His voice trembled and he screwed up his face, as if that would take the fear out of his words. "The water I was wuh-wading th-th-through turned to ice, and I cuh-couldn't move. Ah-and Georgie juh-just kept screaming, he cuh-cuh-called for help and I couldn't…" A sob worked its way out of his throat.

"Bill, breathe," Ben instructed, wheeling himself closer. "You don't have to keep going."

Bill lowered his head. "I'm guh-gonna." He spat.

"Okay," Ben mumbled, sounding somewhat unsure.

"Okay," Bill echoed. "He sounded so duh-desperate, and th-then there wuh-was a crack. And th-th-there were all these nuh-noises. Something wuh-was eating him." Ben looked almost sick, but Bill didn't stop, knowing that if he didn't get it out then, he wouldn't at all. "And it suh-said it was all muh-muh-my fault. And th-then I could see It, cuh-cuh-crouching over huh-him with so many fuh-fucking teeth…"

He could see his brother ahead, a yellow speck dancing above his blue bike, protected by the two boys on either side of him. He held tightly to that image while he spoke, not wanting his fears to pull him under again. "I cuh-closed my eyes buh-because I couldn't kuh-keep looking. It suh-smelled like blood. It kuh-kept telling muh-me that I cuh-couldn't save him, and th-th-that it was..." He inhaled sharply through his teeth, shoulders heaving with ragged breaths. "My fault." He fought against the bile rising in his throat, forcing himself to continue. "And th-then, It guh-got me. It puh-puh-pulled me under the wuh-water and I-" His voice cracked miserably. "I woke up." Ben was visibly shaken, but didn't comment outright.

Bill couldn't blame him. It took a few moments of silence for Ben to gather his words again, the round boy speaking slowly, but deliberately. "That's not normal."

Bill barked out a laugh. "You could say that again." The silence that followed was one of acceptance, and frankly, was far more comforting than the unhealthy pauses and gaps during their phone conversation. It felt trusting, as though the pair of them were completely in sync. They would have stayed in a comfortable silence, had the Neibolt house been further away.

Its lopsided windows leered down at them with loose boards for eyebrows, the house looking almost slanted, like it could come down on their heads if they so much as breathed on it. It made everything seem cold, unforgiving, like the black spires that jutted from atop it, piercing the sky with their twisted points. The bikes of his younger brother and two friends were already strewn about the untrimmed, yellowing front lawn, the owners engaged in a rather loud conversation. Bill squeezed the brakes and skidded to a stop, wheeling the bike past the rusted gate and onto the grass, taking the time to stand Silver upright. Ben's bike hit the dirt behind him with a soft thud and the pair turned to face the scene in front of them.

Georgie was hooting and cheering, pointing at Richie whilst prancing in circles around him, carefully avoiding the yellow flowers mixed in with the stiff grass.

"I BEAT YOU!" He crowed before turning his attention to Mike, an infectious grin dominating his youthful face, eyes shining. "AND I BEAT YOU!"

Mike put his hands in the air defensively. "Richie almost crashed in front of me, he slowed me down!" He protested. Georgie giggled.

Richie shrugged. "That's just how I roll, Mikey!" He proclaimed, pushing up his glasses.

"Right," Mike agreed. "That's how you roll. In front of me. Off of the sidewalk and into the bushes." Richie clapped him on the back, earning an eye-roll.

"Exactly! See?" He pointed finger guns at Mike. "This guy gets it." It looked like they were going to continue, and they probably would have, had Bill not cut them off.

"Ruh-Right, so what are we huh-here to do, exactly?" Everyone turned to Mike expectantly, even Georgie calming down and shooting him a curious look. Mike surveyed his small audience for a moment before speaking.

"Like I said before, we're just here to take a few pictures. Just of the rooms and stuff, maybe the old well." Bill tried to fend off the unease he felt as he gazed at the lone tree and parched yellow flowers surrounding them. They seemed wrong, but he knew he was just being ridiculous.

He had to be imagining the feeling of being watched, right?

He brushed it off, tuning into Mike's words. "It'll be fine," he closed with, shooting Richie a meaningful glance. Richie shuddered.

"Let's get this over with." Mike was the first one to move, wiping his hands on his beige pants before pacing toward the house, camera at the ready. He stopped only to get a shot of the crooked door frame, brambles and dead leaves clinging to the brittle supports. The others watched him for a moment as he stiffened, letting the camera swing freely around his neck. He looked at them over his shoulder.

"You guys coming?" That was all the encouragement they needed. Ben nodded, and Bill fell in step behind him, Richie and Georgie bringing up the rear. Bill could practically feel the tension leaking off his friends. It was heavy, muggy, like summer heat that would make it feel like you were walking through something alive, something that clung to your skin along with your own sweat and scent of the outdoors, making every step feel weighted. That was all Bill could feel as the five of them entered the house, the scent of stagnant air and dust filling his nostrils as he stepped in.

The floorboards creaked beneath them as they trudged in together, bits of dust flying around their feet with each step. The inside didn't look much better than the outside, the wooden walls looking as though they housed at least a thousand different species of bugs. Bill turned his attention from the house over to Georgie, who was fiddling with the camera, pointing it at various areas of the house without taking any pictures, framing shots in his head. He pointed the camera at Bill, and a flash lit up the room.

There was a mechanical grinding, and then a small polaroid picture fell from it. Georgie tugged it off and began to shake it, knocking it against his off-green pants a few times, peering excitedly at it as the white-framed black square framed lit up to reveal Bill's somewhat startled expression and the dingy inside of twenty-nine Neibolt Street.

Bill felt his breath hitch in his throat when he saw the rather dark shadow that seemed to be right behind him. Before he could take a closer look, Georgie had it clasped happily between his fingers, and was about to fold it in half to stick in his pocket when Ben stopped him.

"Here," he flipped open his bookbag and motioned for Georgie to drop the picture inside. "Then, it won't get crumpled," he explained. Georgie flashed him a wide grin.

"Thanks, Ben!" He chirped, depositing the paper before bounding off in the opposite direction of the group, camera swinging wildly as he turned to face the door, framing a few more shots and giggling to himself. Bill couldn't help the small smile that found him as he watched his brother prance about, setting up a few more shots as they ventured deeper into the abandoned building. Bill watched Ben's lips curve up into a smile and felt some of the tension in the air melt away. Even Richie seemed to have relaxed a little, his tensed shoulders falling slack beneath the salmon-pink shirt he wore.

"So…" he drawled, slipping into the voice of the British guy, "I say, good sir, what rooms shall we traverse on this fine day?"

Mike laughed. "I told you, Rich! A few shots of some of the downstairs rooms, maybe check out the basement…" Mike's face suddenly lit up with a mischievous gleam. "And I also wanted to get a shot of that creepy clown room upstairs…"

Richie slumped forward, groaning theatrically. "Do we have to?" He moaned.

Mike shrugged. "If we want to finish this history hunt and get the ice-cream my dad promised us, we do!" Ben nodded.

"Yeah, that's kind of the whole reason we're here, Richie." The Trashmouth groaned.

"Okay, I just don't remember 'Kinky clown puppet theatre' being on that list!" He spluttered. "Think of the children!" Ben snorted. Richie scrunched up his face. "Well, child," he corrected.

Bill grinned, pushing his unease aside.

"Georgie's fine, guys. Ruh-Right, Georgie?" Georgie backed up toward him, pointing the camera at a fractured window.

"Yep!" He agreed, sticking his tongue out in concentration. It was then that Georgie stopped walking with the group, and listened, tilting his head like an attentive dog. He could still hear the footsteps of his brother and his friends, but above that, something else- something different. The group, however didn't notice.

They didn't notice the way the sound wavered and crackled in his ears with haunting phrases, making up what seemed to be a melody that echoed in his head. They didn't notice when he slipped away from them in the direction of the stairs leading to the well, armed only with his camera.

He took a few steps away from the other four, trying to place where exactly he had heard it before as it rang in his head. It sounded familiar, almost comforting, which floored him. It wasn't a nice tune, but it was so, so recognizable that it just seemed so much more alien to him. He could still hear Bill talking to Richie to reassure him as he stole toward one of the slanted doors, the thing hanging open on its rusted hinges, holding up the door with what could easily have been gum and sheer force of will. The singing was muffled slightly by the wood, but Georgie knew that it would become clearer once he entered the room concealed by the gnarled oak planks.

Georgie pushed slightly on the door, and was surprised when it didn't do so much as squeal, simply swinging open invitingly. "There's no actual cuh-clowns here." Georgie could see stairs leading down now, a small window in the cement wall of what appeared to be a cellar illuminating an old well, dust particles dancing in the sunlight. Recognition suddenly sparked in his chest, along with hope.

"Penny?" He asked excitedly, leaning on the handrail that didn't look like it would support his weight.

It wobbled, but didn't fall, so he kept his hand on it as he strode down the stairs, keeping one hand on the camera. If his friend had heard him, he didn't show it, the words not stopping or even faltering, just continuing in their steady rhythm. They rang from the bottom of the well, and Georgie found himself being drawn toward it, like a magnet to a metallic surface. He crept to it, delicately perching on the edge of it with his trusty camera at the ready.

The bricks crumbled slightly under his hand, the scent of dust almost overpowering now, but he scarcely noticed, waiting for his moment to strike. He leaned forward, small smile on his face, camera poised-

"BOO!" A bright flash lit the darkness of the well for a split second, leaving bright spots across his vision.

He could have sworn he saw two eyes down in the darkness before the light faded, and was about to lean closer to check when-

"GEORGIE!" He turned, a confused look crossing his face as he rested his weight against the cracked bricks of the well, still holding tightly to the camera with his free hand. "Get away from-!" The brick supporting Georgie's weight crumbled beneath him.

It was as though he was falling in slow motion, every clawing movement he made slowed to a crawl. Dust flew from beneath his palm as it skidded forward just far enough for him to teeter over the stone lip of the well, nearly hitting his head on the winch hanging in the air above him.

The boy hardly had enough time to let out a startled shriek before gravity took hold, intending to drag him completely into the inky depths of the well. "GEORGIE!" Bill howled again, his voice breaking. Georgie only screamed in response, the gaping maw of the well looming ever closer, ever nearer as gravity hurled him toward it.

Georgie filled his lungs with air and squeezed his eyes shut tight, intent on letting out another scream when something stopped him. His eyes slid open uncertainly. A white glove pushed lightly on the middle of his chest, long fingers keeping him upright and suspended. His wide-eyed gaze trailed from the off-white ruffles lacing the connected wrist, to the red bells looped carefully around it, all the way up to the yellow-eyed gaze of his friend.

Heart hammering, he let himself be lifted by the clown, a single strong arm pushing him out of the well and out of danger. His yellow converse hit the ground and he staggered back, arms splayed at his sides. In that moment, he made eye contact with his rescuer.

The clown looked back at him almost expectantly, eyes wide, hair illuminated by the cracked window looking almost like flames. Georgie let out a nervous laugh, swallowing once dryly.

"D-Did I scare you?" He asked, having the decency to look sheepish.

An expression of confused disgust crossed Penny's face, the upper lip of the clown raising into a snarl, eyes flashing with sheer revulsion. Before Georgie could question him further, he was retracting his long limb back into the well, yellow eyes flickering before disappearing into the darkness. Georgie crossed his arms, an almost smug smile flashing onto his face as he turned to face Bill and the others. "That was close!" He remarked, biting back a cheeky grin.

 _Try saying he's imaginary now._

The reactions he was seeing, however, didn't quite match the ones he had expected. Bill was clutching the railing with white knuckles, his mouth hanging open, blue eyes blown wide in what looked like terror. Richie was next in line and he looked like he was trying to disappear into the wall behind him, face deathly pale. His eyes were huge behind his glasses, intensified by the thick lenses he wore. Georgie's gaze trailed up to Ben next, brow furrowing as he saw the way the round boy was gripping the handrail, his shoulders tense and his mouth gaping. Mike was the last person Georgie looked at, and he was dismayed to see that the tall boy was visibly shaken, clutching the railing as though it was grounding him.

Georgie frowned, stepping away from the well on unsteady limbs. "What-?" He was interrupted from his full statement by Richie backing up into Ben, crashing into the bigger boy and sprawling crookedly across the lopsided steps.

"We have to leave." He got to his feet, his voice shaking almost as much as his knees. Georgie could see the way his eyes looked when they connected with those of Bill, tension and fear rolling off of him in waves. He swallowed hard, hands trembling. " _Now_!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Back again with chapter six of this crazy AU! Thanks so much for all of the reviews and theories, it makes my day reading what you all think! Things are really going to start picking up in these next chapters, so hold on tight! This story ain't over yet! ALSO, I'd like to send out a HUGE thank you to SkyHighDisco-new, ClownxWithxAxPaperxBoat, and Navy-Follower! These three are absolutely fantastic betas, hats off to you! This chapter's a bit different, as it's Richie-centric, giving us a break from Bill and Georgie. Decided to give my favorite loser a whirl!**

 **That's it from me, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Richie didn't do so much as turn around before scrambling up the stairs, not caring if any of his friends were following. Hell, if they were, good, but if they weren't there was a smaller chance of that- that thing following him out. His heart hammered against his ribcage and he could almost feel adrenaline pounding through his veins, his feet nothing more than a scuffed-sneaker clad blur on the dusty floor.

 _You should have said something, warned them, done- done something other than stand there acting like everything was okay. This is all your fault._

He could hear the crash of footsteps behind him and lowered his head, gasping for breath as he tried to accelerate. He idly wondered if that was how Eddie felt every time he ran. He felt as though his throat was burning, closing up against his will as he gagged on the dust in the air. Even the air in the house felt wrong, causing a lead weight to settle on his chest as he ran, like the house was pulling him back toward that thrice-damned basement and to the well that held- held-

He shoved those thoughts forcefully into the far corner of his mind, pushing up his glasses as he did so.

 _Do not fucking think about that, dipshit._

The floorboards beneath him buckled dangerously and he stumbled, having to take a few extra steps to keep from falling, not wanting to somehow- somehow call that thing with the scent of blood. All he could see in his head was the face of the clown, twin red stripes highlighting Its grinning mouth and bulging yellow eyes.

 _It's probably following you right now, did you think of that? It probably isn't even- even human at all, I mean, the size of it was- impossible, wasn't it? It's probably right on your heels, hey, Richie? Reaching for you with those gloved hands and Its mouth wide open to make you disappear, did you-_

Those thoughts spurred him to go faster, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat as his lungs burned. He felt physically sick, almost able to taste blood as he gasped for breath. His feet hammered the loose wood planks and dust stuck to his glasses, highlighted by the dim light filtering through the cracked windows. His shoulders heaved with ragged breaths as the sound of footsteps grew closer still along with that of heavy breathing.

His heart pounded like that of a frightened animal and he could feel every frantic beat as it thundered against his ribs, pulsing through his bones. It almost hurt, and coupled with the fear that rocked him to his very core, it pushed him into a state of hysteria that caused his frantic motions to become almost compulsive, his body moving of its own accord as he ran.

Richie didn't break stride as he leapt for the still open door, dust catching in the light making it look like the outside world was so far away, so impossibly far away from his clawing reach. It looked almost like another world. Another world that he was intent on crashing into. With one final push, he threw himself through the door, a cool autumn breeze ruffling his hair. Shakily, he stumbled down the steps, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths as reality reared its ugly head.

In.

 _That was a fucking clown in the well-_

Out.

 _A clown that happened to be creeping in the well of the sketchiest place in all of Derry- and that's saying something._

In.

 _What if it got them? No- No human could ever be that tall, right?_

Richie's breath caught in his throat when the steps creaked behind him. He whirled around, fight or flight gluing him to the spot like he was caught in a beartrap.

 _Holy shit holy-_

He backed up a few paces, hands flying to tangle themselves in his hair. He tugged at it until it hurt, his thoughts spiraling out of control as he watched the others spill out of the house in a messy sort of line. Ben was visibly shaken and he was at Richie's side in an instant, his normally calm composure crumpling into a panicked sort of worry. He clutched at his arms and his gaze stayed trained on the door of the house, watching almost dazedly as Bill slammed it shut with a resounding bang.

"Oh my God…" Richie mumbled, feeling all of the adrenaline leave him in one fell swoop. It felt like he had been punched in the gut. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…" He repeated it like a mantra, the words feeling almost wrong prying from his lips.

Not one of them moved as Bill dropped to one knee beside him and gripped his brother's shoulders tightly, hands shaking as they clutched the yellow fabric of his hoodie. "Are yuh-you okay, Juh-Juh-Georgie?"

Even though Richie could only see Bill's back, he knew their leader was just as scared as the rest of them. It was the way his stutter formed that gave him away outright, the syllables sharp and harsh rather than painfully drawn out as per usual. It was as though Bill was spitting the words out as fast as his stutter would allow. "Did th-that thing hurt you?"

Georgie nodded. "I'm fine." He almost whispered, his voice uncertain.

"You saw that too, right?" Mike's voice broke through the clamour of his thoughts and he took a heaving breath in, his throat raw from his sharp breathing. "I didn't hallucinate that?" Richie pulled harder at his hair, trying his best to focus on something other than the images of the monster from the well that he couldn't shake from his head. Something inside told him that he never would.

"See what, Mike?" His hands flew from his hair into the air and he began to gesture frantically with them as though the words he needed to say were floating above him. "The crown moulding? The mahogany paneling?" He could feel all of their eyes on him, but he scarcely cared. "Or," He stopped for a moment to take a deep breath, "did you mean the _FREAKING CLOWN MONSTER_?"

Georgie suddenly looked up at him, looking almost hurt. "Penny ISN'T a monster!" He protested, shooting Richie a glare.

The silence that followed was deafening. All eyes turned to Georgie where he stood, his small hands clenched into fists. Everyone stumbled to find something to say, but the only sound was the wind rustling the grass and flowers. Somehow, it was infinitely louder than any words that could have been spoken.

Bill finally broke it after some hesitation. He shifted his weight nervously and leaned closer to Georgie. "Puh-Penny like… your imaginary fuh-fuh-friend, Penny?" Somehow, the words didn't calm Georgie in the slightest.

"Yes! I told you he wasn't imaginary!" Ben suddenly inhaled sharply and Richie found his attention being pulled away from the siblings in front of him. He frowned and followed Ben's gaze to the camera swinging from Georgie's neck. "And he's not a monster! He's just a clown whose circus got blown into the sewer!" His breath hitched in his throat.

A photograph hung loosely from the camera, and from what Richie could see through the glare cast by the sun, it was of the well. Ben slowly moved forward. "You, um…" He gently pried the picture loose and stared down at it, his face draining of color as he did so. "You may wanna reconsider that last part." He managed to get out. Richie leaned over his shoulder. His heart leapt into his throat. His stomach dropped to his shoes.

Any witty comment he might have made caught behind his closed lips. He struggled to draw breath, his hands beginning to shake. "What the HELL is that?" He wheezed, his voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.

The creature that stared up at him from the photograph looked like it had clawed Its way up from the depths of hell, a pair of bright yellow eyes staring up at him from the paper. He swallowed hard and leaned closer. He felt bile begin to rise in his throat and he choked it down, eyes scanning every horrific detail of the creature, committing It to memory.

It looked like a centipede, a long, insectoid body coiled up the inside of the well with thousands upon thousands of tiny legs clinging to the ancient brick. It's whole body spiraled down into the dark, red blotches decorating Its skin, rippling up it like some sick paint spill. That, however, wasn't the part that caused Richie to bite back a soft whimper.

The body of a clown was connected to the almost alien creature, the ruffles of its costume identical to the thing that had caught Georgie in the air as though he weighed absolutely nothing.

"What is it?" Richie tore his gaze away and looked down at Georgie, whose face looked like it could be considered either angry or curious. Their eyes met and the shorter boy sighed exasperatedly. "Lemme see!"

"Nuh-No, Juh-Georgie." Richie winced at the stutter that laced Bill's words. He'd heard Bill utter those two words enough times to know that his friend was able to say them clearly, even when laughing. This was wrong, and it settled on his chest like a lead weight, pushing down on him and making every breath a struggle.

Riche's gaze drifted to Mike, noticing at once the way the tall boy bit his lip. "That thing," He began, looking up from the photo to take stock of the group's reactions, "Was in the well my Dad told us about." Richie frowned, trying in vain to recall any warnings.

" _The well is the worst part of the house." Mike had told him over the phone. Richie remembered how he had twirled the cord between his fingers almost nervously, the very mention of the house sending a chill rushing down his spine._

" _Why?" He hadn't wanted to ask, but the word had slipped unbidden from his lips._

" _They found some bloody clothes-"_

" _So what? Eddie's Mom bled through and the whole town goes off about it? 'Bout time. Period sex, Mike, is a rather interesting-"_

" _Beep beep, Richie."_

He had agreed readily after that. Boy, what a fucking mistake. Not one joke rose to his tongue as Mike surveyed them all with a critical eye. "The one where all those bloody clothes were found when those settlers disappeared…"

Ben squinted at the photo and blinked rapidly, as if trying to convince himself that what they were seeing wasn't there. "You don't think this thing…"

Bill winced, but nodded slowly. "I muh-mean, cuh-creepy house wuh-with a creepy wuh-well-"

Richie clapped his hand to Bill's shoulder to try and ground himself. "WITH A CREEPY MURDER CLOWN!" He spluttered, unable to contain himself any longer.

Mike managed a small laugh. "You think all clowns are creepy murder clowns, Richie."

Richie waved his arms dramatically. "UM, DID YOU EVEN LOOK AT THE PHOTO HE'S HOLDING?"

Bill knelt again, resting his arm against his knee. His fingers twitched nervously on his pantleg. "Georgie," The child in question shot his older brother a heated scowl, but didn't speak, silently granting Bill permission to keep talking. "Has this thing ever-"

Georgie bristled. "He's not a _thing_!" He corrected, drawing himself up to his full height and clenching his small hands into fists. " _His_ name is Penny and he's my _friend_!" Richie snorted.

"Right!" He agreed, feeling slightly guilty when Georgie looked up at him hopefully. He avoided the child's gaze and flared his arms to his sides, fingers clawing the air. "Seven foot tall, razor-toothed, physics-defying clown. Seems like a friendly guy!" Sarcasm dripped from his words. He opened his mouth to say more, not finished with his statement when he was elbowed in the ribs by Ben.

"Beep beep, Richie." Ben scolded, still clutching the photograph in one shaky hand.

Richie watched Bill stiffen in front of him, their leader hooking his thumb through one of the belt loops in his jeans. "Has… Puh-Penny ever tuh-tried to hurt you or tuh-talked about hurting an-anyone else?"

Georgie looked like he was on the verge of tears. "No!" He sounded appalled by the very suggestion. His shoulders tensed and trembled. "He's my friend and would never hurt me and I don't like that you're talking about him like this!" He sucked in a breath once he finished and Richie noticed with a twinge of guilt that his lower lip was quivering.

Bill looked pained. "Juh-Georgie…" He tried, sounding almost desperate to make his brother understand. Georgie was hearing none of it.

"STOP IT!" The group fell silent once again, everyone watching as Georgie's face crumpled. "I'm…" He grabbed the camera and clutched it like a lifeline. His brown eyes fixated on his bike where it lay in the grass. "I'm gonna go to the barrens for a little while." He mumbled. Richie bit down on his lip as Georgie lifted his hand to swat tears out of his eyes, huffing miserably as he steadied his bike.

None of them moved to stop him.

Bill looked like he wanted to, his bottom lip clamped firmly between his teeth as he watched his brother pedal in the opposite direction from the group. Richie wrung his hands behind his back, trying to force all thoughts of what might have happened out of his head. All he could hear over the noise of his own heartbeat was that stupid, taunting melody.

"Bill-" He began, watching as their leader stood in silence, brushing the dry mud off of his knees. He had to take a deep breath to ground himself before speaking, Bill's blue eyes meeting his brown. "I-I-" He shuddered, suddenly cold. "I knew It- that thing- was there."

Bill looked almost sympathetic. "There's nuh-no way you cuh-could of known."

Richie shook his head, raising his hands to tug once more on his tangled mess of hair. "No, not from the beginning, but, like, once Georgie wandered off."

 _Oranges and Lemons say the bells of saint clements…_

He inhaled shakily and pushed up his glasses as he examined his ratty sneakers. "The song- It- It was singing. It lured him into the basement." The words built behind his closed lips as he took another deep breath. "I could hear it, I just- I just fucking _knew_ something was going to happen, but I tried-" He looked up weakly. "I tried to ignore it, y'know? Thought I was just, dunno, making shit up. Fooling myself or something…"

Mike patted him on the back and he managed a grateful smile. "You should have said something."

Richie groaned. "I fucking know, I just-" He shrugged weakly. "I didn't want to ruin this, you know? I was trying to conquer my dumbass fear."

Ben smiled at him. It was watery and didn't reach his eyes, but it still offered some comfort. "It's not dumb to be afraid." He mumbled softly.

Bill nodded in agreement, but his face was still firm. "Duh-did you hear an-anything else?"

Richie shook his head. "Just that fucking song, Bill." He fiddled with the collar of his shirt, the sunlight hitting his face feeling almost wrong. It was warm, but it made a knot form in his throat. He felt almost guilty and he had to take a moment to remind himself that he had nothing to feel guilty for. He had gotten out, and Georgie was fine, right?

 _But you should have told them. You knew, didn't you, Richie? You knew that It was there, you didn't know what It was then, or even if It was dangerous, but you knew. You knew and you didn't even warn them. What if It had attacked?_

His stomach bucked unpleasantly and he shifted his weight restlessly, gripping tightly at his hair and lolling his head back. "I just- I should have said something! I should have-" His voice cracked. "-have…" He repeated, his voice cracking like a broken record.

Mike stepped toward him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Look, we were all scared back there, okay? Or- at least, know I was." His eyes left Richie's to look at the other two, who both nodded along to his statement.

His tone was even and Richie found himself nodding along. "Thanks."

Mike nodded once more with a small smile. "It's okay to be afraid."

Richie found a small smirk creeping onto his face. "That's what I told Eddie's Mom the first time we-"

"Richie!" The Trashmouth grinned, letting the shackles of fear clamped firmly around his ankles fall away as he turned to face Bill.

"Just tellin' the-" He snapped his mouth shut abruptly when he saw the look Bill was giving Silver. The bike lay on the sidewalk and Richie knew that Bill wanted nothing more than to leap astride his beast and go after his brother. It was in the way his fingers twitched and his eyes darted around nervously, as though listening for a scream to echo up the street. "-truth." He finished quietly, watching through his glasses as Bill moved to straddle his bike, silently pleading the others to follow.

"Wuh-We've got to go ah-after him." He managed, steadying Silver as he did so and dusting off the seat, his eyes steely. "He's all ah-alone, and wh-what if that thuh-thing gets him?"

"Bill, relax." Ben's voice broke through the tension that had slowly been tightening its hold on the group. "Georgie's fine. What we need to focus on is letting everyone know what happened, right? We don't have to do this alone."

Mike nodded. "I agree with Ben." Bill's hand slid from Silver's seat. Richie watched as his jaw tensed and he slowly let his hands fall from his bike.

His eyes fell to Richie and in that moment, Richie knew that what he said would either start an argument, or lead them all into an uneasy peace, and for the first time in his life, he took a careful account of his words. "Chasing after him isn't going to change what we saw," He reasoned, taking a step forward, "and hell, if I was that pissed, I'd probably hide if I saw you coming. Leave him be."

Bill rubbed at one eye with the heel of his hand with a shuddering breath. Richie knew he was gathering his words, and apparently, he was having some difficulty doing so. It was in the way his jaw clenched and unclenched, his eyes half lidded as he focused on the words dancing behind his eyes. Finally, he shuffled and crossed his arms against his chest. "You're ruh-right, Ben. Wuh-We should call up th-the others. Let them know wh-what's going on. I'll cuh-call Stan and Eddie."

Ben mumbled something under his breath. Richie pounced. "Did you say something, Haystack?" He asked, not unkindly, but with a definitive undertone to his words.

Ben flushed. "I was just-" His gaze dropped to his sneakers. "-What about Beverly?"

Richie smirked, but didn't say another word, letting Bill fill the round boy in. "She's guh-grounded. Unless one of us guh-goes to-"

"I'll go." All eyes turned to the Trashmouth where he stood and he shrugged in response to their stares. "We've both heard the singing before, it'd make the most sense. I'll get her to call, okay?" In reality, he really, really just wanted to get away from the house and clear his head. Silently, he begged for Bill to give him the okay, watching the stuttering boy mull it over at a painfully slow rate.

Bill finally gave in with a small nod. "That's a guh-good idea." Richie grinned and moved to grab at his bike's handlebars, heaving the forest green bicycle into an upright position and swinging himself onto it. "Juh-Just-" Bill weighed his words carefully before speaking. "Don't get seen. Her Dad duh-doesn't like us th-that much."

"That's an understatement." Mike muttered. "But he's still right. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Richie snickered, already beginning to pedal. "Let me have _some_ fun, Micycle."

Mike cringed at the nickname, but laughed in spite of it. "Fair enough." That was all it took for Richie to push down on the pedals fully and stand up, wide grin still in place on his freckled face as he shot away from his friends and the house that he knew would be with him in his dreams.

He fell into a steady rhythm as his tires spun, letting his eyes slip closed for just a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of the wind in his hair and the way the breeze tugged at his loose fitting shirt. He let it pull away all of the thoughts of Neibolt, the house lost to the clinking of his chain and the spinning of his wheels. He rocked back and forth slightly and forced himself to slow down and enjoy the ride for a moment.

Nothing was chasing him.

He was safe.

So why did it feel like he wasn't?

He tried his best to push those thoughts out of his head, focusing on the bright swirl of leaves that crunched under his wheels. It was almost beautiful, but then again, it was Derry. Richie snorted at the thought and picked up his pace just a little, more than aware that, although it was the weekend, Bowers would be prowling around town in search of his latest victim.

Richie shot through the town with ease, and before he knew it, he was rolling to a stop outside of the Marsh residence. Tension leaked back into him as he looked up at the structure, the peeling blue paint making the house look almost mouldy. He wheeled his bike around to the window near the rear of the house, keeping low to the ground and silently cursing his fashion choice. His shirt may as well have been a beacon amongst the red and orange hues the season brought. Sure, there wasn't a car in the driveway, but it would only take one minor screw-up to get him caught, and that wasn't something he planned on having happen.

He crouched beneath the high window and dug his fingers into the dirt in search of a pebble, still soft from the heavy rainfall that had plagued the town for weeks. His heart beat in his throat and he took a shaky breath in to try and keep himself calm.

 _He's not going to be home yet, idiot. Just breathe._

His fingers closed around a pebble and Richie lifted it to his face, squinting at it for a moment before looking back up at the window. It seemed so much higher now. The glass glared down at him and he swallowed hard, arching his hand back behind his head and shifting his weight so he wouldn't topple over.

In one fluid motion, he arched his arm as far as it would go and tossed the rock upward. It hit the glass with a sharp clink that seemed to echo like a gunshot. He sucked in a sharp breath and found another pebble, quick in throwing it after the other.

"C'mon, Bev." He mumbled under his breath, eyes darting from the window to the still empty driveway. He had just raised his hand to hurl another pebble at the window when the blue curtains were flung apart to reveal Beverly Marsh in all of her glory.

Her red hair hung at an odd angle across her eyes and she looked downright murderous. She flung the window open and stuck her head out to glare down at the Trashmouth where he crouched in the leaves. "I'm grounded, asshat!" She hissed at him, the key dangling from her neck catching the light and sending sunspots dancing across Richie's vision.

He stuck out his tongue in response and she laughed. It wasn't quite full, nor as loud as it was normally, but it was still there. "I noticed. How're you holding up?"

Beverly shrugged and slung her legs over the window frame, sitting up against it casually. "Alright, I guess. I mean, he caught me smoking fair and square. It sucks, but I'm okay." He pretended not to notice the way she let her dress fall over her knees. She tugged it over her kneecaps, but from where he stood, Richie could see the telltale purple marks on her skin.

Richie nodded and stood up, squinting against the harsh sunlight. "Good, that's, that's-"

Beverly shot him a look that shut him up in an instant. "Spit it out, Trashmouth." She prompted, eyes narrowed and chin resting on her folded hands.

Richie found himself tugging on his dark curls again and forced himself to stop, dropping his hands to his sides. "We went back to Neibolt, Bev."

Beverly visibly paled. Her grip tightened on the window ledge. "Why the hell would you do that?"

Richie threw his hands in the air defensively. "Wasn't my idea! Mike's dad was doing some- dunno- history thing and he wanted us to get some pictures."

Beverly had been shaking her her head slowly through the entirety of his nervous ramble, one hand moved to pinch at the bridge of her nose almost nervously. "What-"

"Georgie almost fuckin' died, Bev!" He snapped, unable to contain himself anymore.

The redhead snapped to attention at that, her face pale. "He-You-" She squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment before opening them again. "-Start from the beginning."

Richie's head bobbed up and down and he took a deep breath, coughing once. "We were just kind of wandering around in the house, y'know, like when we went?" He didn't look up to see if she had nodded. His hands flew in the air in wild gestures as he spoke, almost as though he was fending off invisible demons in the air. "And then- then the singing was back. But it was louder, more like it was someone singing it to themselves."

He chanced a look at Beverly then, pushing up his glasses on his nose. Even through the glare from the sun he could see the way her fingers dug into the white window frame, nails chipping away at the already peeling paint. "I ignored it." He tugged restlessly at the sleeves of his shirt. "I just- I could have told them, y'know? Mike and Ben and Bill," He began to pace, hands flying up to claw at the back of his head. "I could have-"

"Richie, breathe." The Trashmouth obeyed, his breath coming in a sharp, wheezing sort of inhale. It almost hurt, but it helped clear the overwhelming noise of his head so he could focus on the story he needed to tell.

"Thanks." He croaked.

Beverly nodded weakly. "Don't mention it."

Richie squared his shoulders and looked up, hands clenched into fists that quivered at his sides. "I just ignored it, Bev, but that was such a bad idea. It just got louder, and when I heard a door open, I snapped." He remembered the sheer terror that had coursed through his veins as he spun on a heel and done a headcount, his stomach dropping when he realized that Georgie wasn't there. "Georgie had wandered off to the basement, and I knew, I just fucking knew that there was something down there- something- something big."

He had just opened his mouth to speak again when Beverly cut him off, a quiet: "Oh, shit." Falling from her lips. Richie frowned and watched her gaze leave his. She was leaning dangerously far out of the window now, her off-white sundress speckled with pink flowers blowing in the soft breeze as she shifted so her knees grazed the chipped white paint.

That's when he heard it. It was faint, but the telltale rumbling of an engine and the spinning of tires made his blood turn to ice in his veins. Beverly leaned out of the window and motioned for him to get his bike. "Go! Go go go!" Richie wasted no time in following her order, only turning back once.

"Bev, wait!" The girl in question had almost completely closed the window and was fumbling with the latch, but she threw it back open in an instant.

"What?"

"Bill wanted to call you later. Can you get the phone?"

Beverly hesitated before nodding sharply and slamming the window shut as the Trashmouth straddled his bike, shoelaces coming undone as he spurred it into motion, his head low and close to the handlebars. Richie looked over his shoulder only once and managed to see Beverly fling the curtains closed before the sound of a car door opening caused his breath to catch in his throat.

Richie froze like a deer in the headlights and dug his feet into the ground on either side of his bike, head whipping in the direction of the noise. "Shit fucking-" He frantically dug his heels into the dirt and inched his bike back toward the house as fast as he could, trying to get himself out of sight.

It was going surprisingly well until his glasses slipped from his nose. He leaned forward to catch them on instinct and let out a sharp gasp when he flipped over the handlebars of his bike, sprawling across the dirt and leaves with a crash. Pain exploded across his knees and he could feel something beginning to drip from his nose, the coppery scent of blood flooding his nostrils as he inhaled shakily, biting back a whimper that tried to tear itself from his throat.

Richie could hear one of the tires from his bike rattling behind him and looked up. Everything was a blur of colors and shapes and he almost let out a whine of confusion before remembering that he was practically blind without his glasses.

The rushing of his blood echoed in his ears and he swatted at the fleeting shape of his bike, trying in vain to stop the ever-present rattling, knowing, just _knowing_ that it would be the thing that got him caught. His hand brushed against the chain, fingers becoming coated in grease and grime that coated the metal links. He scooted forward, untangling his gangly legs from the pedals to grip the back tire firmly, stopping it short.

And then- he waited with bated breath. Through the blur he could see a vaguely human blob clad in red and he scrambled back, wiping at the blood trickling from his nose. It left a red smear across his hand and upper lip, the coppery scent making him want to gag. His back pressed up against the cool wood of the house and tried to disappear, curling his long limbs in on himself like a spider.

It seemed a small eternity before Richie heard the sound of a door closing and a lock clicking into place. His whole body relaxed at the noise and he let out a shuddering laugh, standing and dusting himself off.

He took a step forward. Glass crunched under the heel of his sneaker. "FUCK!" It tore from his lips before he could stop it. It echoed louder than the noise of his bike crashing and ricocheted around him like a gunshot. Richie raised his hand to his mouth and bit down on his knuckle as he picked up the mangled remains of his glasses and slid them onto the bridge of his nose as fast as he could.

They'd need another strip of tape in the middle at the very least, and the lens that his heel had connected with was splintered quite fabulously in a pattern that spiderwebbed across his vision, leaving him blind in his left eye.

Richie groaned again and hauled his bike upward, preparing to pedal slowly away in defeat when-

"YOU!" The booming voice of Alvin Marsh caused his heart to skip several beats, the steady throbbing replaced by the rushing of blood in his ears and the sound of his insides turning to water.

"SHIT!" Was the only word that escaped the Trashmouth as he stood on his pedals and began pedaling faster than he'd ever pedaled before. His legs burned but he kept going as the sound of footsteps behind him rang in his ears along with mixed curses about 'His Bevvy' and how she was mixing with 'Those damn dirty boys' again. Richie hardly heard it, and as though Satan was on his tail, he flew out of the driveway and out into the street, the world rough and cracked through the fragments of his glasses.

All Richie could do was hope that Beverly would be okay.

Until then, however, he was content to keep pedaling at a breakneck pace until he reached his front door.

Richie only looked back once, and as he gasped for breath, he could have sworn he saw a pair of yellow eyes peering almost curiously at him from one of the sewer's many entrances, but as soon as he blinked, they were gone.

He blamed it on his broken glasses.


End file.
